Oddball Faith
by crockywock
Summary: In 1973,Severus returns for his 3rd year. Transfiguration is worse than ever and Lucius keeps behaving oddly. Legilimency isn't as easy as it looks,the Marauders will not stay in the castle for one day, and Minerva is clearly overtaxed with the situation.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

This is the third part of my Oddball series, which deals with Severus's youth at Hogwarts. I started Oddball Pride (Year 1) after the fifth and before the sixth book, which means none of the three is HBP/DH-compliant. I am currently in the process of reuploading all chapters with minor (and sometimes major) amendments, the largest of which concern my somewhat half-hearted attempt of building Snape's canon parents into the story. Changed my mind about that. After DH, the whole thing is AU anyway.

* * *

**ODDBALL FAITH  
A series of events during Severus Snape's third year at Hogwarts. **

**Prologue**

A cold wind had come up.

This, in itself, was not too unusual at this particular time of the year, especially not around the most Northern parts of the wizarding world. It was not cold as such, but there was a motionlessness in the air that kept many people indoors, particularly towards the country's windy evenings.

Almost all the lights had been extinguished inside McGillivray Manor as Colonel Lance Snape was moving towards the giant, black building and its standard security entrance doors. Calmly, with calculating movements - and without apparent hurry.

Devastating events in a man's personal life could turn his heart to stone. They could make him forget the world around him for some indefinite amount of time, could slow his actions, and sometimes... engrave marks of terror deep inside his soul, so that all happiness seemed gone forever.

They could, however, never defeat a Snape.

It seemed annoying, the Colonel found, that he had to knock several times before the front doors finally let him in, grudgingly, seeming to recall the last time they had refused to do his bidding.

'I do not approve of how you treat the manor's doors,' Minerva McGonagall had once said. 'They are my parents' only means of protection against potential wizarding intruders.'

It was her term for their kind. This was what she expected from her own people. Perhaps with justification. One never knew with teachers.

'I expect you have a good reason for calling at this time of the night,' said a voice that had not sprung from his imagination.

He turned.

'Indeed, Miss McGillivray.'

'McGonagall, Lance Brutus,' said the stern-looking witch, who wa now emerging from the gloomy depths of her downstairs corridor, a mischievous grin playing around her thin lips, he noted.

'I expect you derive pleasure from calling me by my father's name,' he said icily.

'I expect _you_ might have learned to call me by my proper name after a six-year-marriage,' she replied.

'Topaz McGonagall is a fool,' said Lance, not taking his eyes off the lanky witch in her emerald nightgown. 'Just as he used to be, even before the divorce.'

'Why have you come?' was his opposite's weary reply. 'Not, I am sure, to have a go on my ex-husband?'

'No,' said Lance firmly, 'the matter I intend to discuss with you is of much more interest - and importance.'

The witch smiled this time, weakly. 'Well,' she said, 'why don't you come in then. I am afraid I cannot offer you anything exceptionally delicious, as Mawly is having her day off, but there is always tea, I suppose.'

The living-room looked very much as Lance remembered it. A broad, ancient-looking room with light curtains in front of a terrace window, dark green armchairs in front of a middle-sized fireplace - and a tartan carpet.

Lance took a good look around before finally settling down on an armchair between the fireplace and the window.

'Mawly is a servant?' he enquired, not without interest.

'Mawly is mother's House-Elf,' said Minerva tartly while settling down opposite his chair, summoning two cups and a pot of tea on the way.

'You are giving your House-Elf a day off?' said Lance with surprise.

'Some of them are comparatively thankful for an occasional break from work,' replied the witch sternly. 'And from their mistress, I expect. _I_ would certainly insist on a day off if I was working for my mother on a twenty-four hour shift.'

She grinned. Lance wisely decided not to contradict her on this.

'Apart from that,' the black-haired witch went on, 'you fail to see that the House-Elves _you_ got do know come from families that have been serving in more conservative wizarding households for centuries. Not all of them are as mislead, however.'

'You fail to see those creatures' true nature...' began Lance to explain, but Minerva interrupted.

'And you, Lance Brutus, fail to see what a thousand years of brainwashing can do. Although, being in the army, one might think...'

'_Careful_, Minerva! There are some things I will not tolerate.'

The Transfiguration teacher stopped, hesitated, and then nodded.

'Very well,' she said. 'You are probably right, these discussions never lead anywhere. You are too much of a pig-head to see reason.'

Lance had to admit that her sharpness surprised him.

'Back to topic,' he said after a moment's consideration about a suitable reply, cautious not to display these thoughts on his face. 'I have come for another reason, after all. I would like to discuss this year's dinner with you.'

Minerva frowned. 'The Christmas dinner? What do I have to do with your traditions?'

'They are _our_ traditions, first and foremost,' said Lance sternly. 'Secondly, even _if_ you wish to separate the pro-Dumbledore line from the rest of the family of purebloods, there is still your mother, who...'

'I thought you said you found his ideas quite valuable?' interrupted Minerva once more.

Now it was Lance's turn to frown. 'I said I believe them acceptable as long as he kept them within the limits of teaching,' he said. 'I still find that he constantly meddles in current politics, however, and that is a problem, which can no longer be ignored.'

'He knows better than most of those dunderheads at the ministry,' said Minerva coldly. 'And anyway, you cannot just separate people into who they support. Politics don't work like that.'

'I must apologise,' said Lance, 'but that is _exactly_ how politics work these days. As a matter of fact, people seem to group around and look up to single leader-type people more and more often. There is finally movement in the old offices.'

'Yes,' snorted Minerva, 'as I say - brainwashing. Though in a different context.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I mean the way people keep pushing responsibility from one superior to the next,' said Minerva tartly. 'Ridiculous, really. To think we have been sneering at Grindelwald's supporters half a century ago... But just look at the way some people are treating Millicent Bagnold or Bartemius Crouch.'

'...or Albus Dumbledore, for that matter,' remarked Lance.

Minerva's eyes narrowed and her dark eyebrows pulled into one straight, black line. 'That is an entirely different matter!' she snapped. 'We _think_!'

'I find that Gryffindors tend to believe they are the only ones capable of maintaining a hierarchic structure without maintaining a certain autonomy,' replied Lance coldly.

Minerva sighed. 'Maybe,' she said. 'But the point is that _I_ do. And many other people whom I believe far more considerate than almost any Ministry member these days. At least the upper levels. You ought to have learned whom you can trust by now, Lance. You ought to _know_ you can trust my opinion in these matters!'

'If you are alluding to our discussion concerning my father...'

'I am not alluding to anything,' said Minerva sharply. 'I am trying to make you think.'

'Thank you,' said Lance curtly, unable to think of anything better to hold against her overconfidence.

'So what about the Christmas dinner?' snapped the Deputy Headmistress.

'I have come to talk to you about the dinner because as matters stand now it cannot be held at Grimauld place this year,' said Lance after a short moment's consideration. 'The reason being an acute Bundimun problem they are having over there. The whole place will have to be decontaminated and thus evacuated for a few months.'

'Rotten beasts,' mumbled his friend. 'They used to have them in the greenhouses at Hogwarts before Mandy took over. Infected dozens of pupils at the time.'

'Yes, an uncomfortable species,' replied Lance. 'Well, and as there is hardly any space for all of us at most people's places and Malfoy Manor only recently burnt down... yes, _again_. Don't ask me what that man is doing. I hear that his cousin is a bit off his... anyway, since we are in need of a suitable gathering place, your mother suggested that we should all meet here, in the old dining-room, to attempt a re-union of the lines.'

'WHAT?'

Lance realised that this would take a while.

'Certainly with a selection of people - the reasonable half, you realise - there is a possibility of getting everyone together again.'

'Since when are you interested in family unification?' snapped Minerva. 'What are you planning?'

'I am trying to prevent a permanent segregation,' replied the soldier coldly. 'As should you, Professor McGonagall.'

There was a short silence.

'You are extremely straightforward,' said Minerva after a short while. 'But quite correct in your observations. As so often. Whom are you planning to invite?'

Lance told her.

'How about Dumbledore?' was Minerva's first question after a brief discussion of more detailed matters. 'I expect you won't want me to invite him, do you?'

'I would prefer to avoid a direct provocation,' said the soldier, 'so - no. Unless you absolutely insist...'

'I'll be fine without a full evening's subliminal whispering or slander,' replied the Deputy Headmistress. 'And apart from that, I do not think he will have the time. I shall ask one of my friends around, if you do not mind, however.'

Lance nodded.

'My. Best. Friend,' emphasised Minerva.

Lance nodded again. Then, realisation began to dawn on him.

'Not that Herbology witch?'

'She won't want to miss it,' grinned Minerva, certain that Lance would not decline her only condition for the evening.

Lance felt his shoulders sag. 'If you think it necessary...'

'Excellent,' said Minerva lightly. 'That is settled then.'

Lance preferred to remain silent.

'Now, I wouldn't like to turn you out,' said Minerva quietly, 'but the day has been exceptionally work-filled. There is one thing left I have been meaning to discuss with you, however, wait a moment...'

She put one hand at her chin, stroking it pensively. Lance waited, patiently, until she had gathered her thoughts again.

'Oh yes,' said Minerva after a while, 'Severus. It had to do with his exam and...' she stopped once more. Lance wondered for a moment what might be the cause, but then sat back quickly and straightened his face, noticing that his eyebrows must have contracted to form an expression, which had silenced tougher people than Minerva McGonagall.

'Excuse me.'

'No, no. Do continue,' he demanded. 'The matter of Severus's exams is, admittedly, rather tiring. I expect he failed again?'

'Oh, no,' said the Deputy Headmistress a little too quickly, seeming a little too worried, 'nothing important. I'll discuss the matter over with your wife. At the dinner, maybe.'

Lance felt his face shut. Instantly. It was too close - yet.

'No, you won't,' he said, noticing that his voice was assuming a frosty note. 'She died last week.'

With a loud crash, the teapot in Minerva's hand fell to the floor and burst into pieces. There was a second's silence in which the black-haired witch stared at her opposite in horror. Then, she got up and made a step towards him, grabbing his shoulder without having to bend.

'Lance,' she said, her voice assuming a tone very different from her previous reservation, 'how did that happen? How on earth did that happen?'

'She killed herself,' mumbled the colonel, trying not to think of the sight that had awaited him the last time he had entered his own bedroom. 'Something to do with Severus. I don't know anything for sure, however. Haven't got anything out of him yet. But it seems he witnessed everything.'

Minerva put one hand before her mouth while getting out her wand with the other, at a snail's pace, to clean away the teapot's shattered remains.

'The boy... she died and he was there? Where is he now?'

'I locked him in his room,' replied Lance more forcefully than intended. 'He refuses to talk to me.'

'Refuses...' Minerva looked more and more shaken. 'You locked him in? After he witnessed his mother's death?'

'He clearly plays a part in it,' said Lance firmly, fighting against the urge to ask what had been nagging him for days now, 'but refuses to be of assistance. He takes the position of the convict in this case, and thus belongs locked in.'

'He is your son,' said Minerva, not taking up her usual façade of austerity for once, 'and he needs you. No matter what 'position' he might take in your eyes. Go home, take him into your arms, and wait until he speaks. Just wait. You can't force him, but you can show him you understand. It isn't difficult. Wait...' She got up and walked over to her shelf. 'He will speak,' she said. 'If you show patience towards him and his situation.'

'What are you doing there?' Lance heard himself say as though through a veil.

'I am looking for Miranda's volume on child psychology which she published last year,' was the off-hand answer. Lance blinked.

'Child psychology?'

'Why, yes,' said the Deputy Headmistress. 'You need to see that he is taken care of. I even suggest that you go and see a psychologist yourself.'

'Rubbish!'

Again, the words emerged Lance's mouth without his notice. All his reactions were still out of control. And suddenly he stopped thinking at all.

'I am sorry, Minerva,' he said brusquely, getting up from his seat by the fireplace, 'but I'll have to leave. Tomorrow's getting up is going to be early…'

The Deputy Headmistress turned in surprise, away from her shelf. 'But...'

Then she paused, seeming to take in his look. 'Very well,' she sighed, resigning. 'It is getting quite late, of course. Still,' she said, hesitating just for a moment, 'promise that you will think about getting professional help here, Lance.'

The soldier nodded. Curtly. There was no point in arguing with Minerva McGonagall once she had made up her mind.

'And do try and be patient with your son,' added the deputy headmistress. 'I'll be having a special eye on him once he returns to Hogwarts in September, but until then he needs any time he can get to recover. Do you hear me? Whatever you want to talk about... wait until he comes to you on his own accord. Or at least until he is prepared to talk again. Do you hear me, Lance?'

The soldier hesitated, then gave her a small nod. 'Thank you,' he said darkly. 'Thank you very much, Minerva.'

They walked outside.

'Will you be fine walking through the forest by yourself?' said Minerva softly.

'Please,' replied the Snape sternly, 'I am spending fifty percent of my time in the African jungle.'

'Just asking,' smiled Minerva. 'Politeness, ye ken.'

'Yes,' replied the Snape. 'A ken.'

With another short nod, kissing her cheek just a moment longer than intended, he took his leave. Through the forest that surrounded the manor, and then the Forbidden Forest, which marked the borders between all unplottable wizarding places. She was right, he mused. All this situation required was some time.


	2. Carpet Attack

**Carpet Attack**

Sirius Black woke up, at first not knowing where he was. It seemed the room he was lying in rattled occasionally, but it took him a full five minutes before he came to understand why this was the case. Then, however, he sat up, grinning, not believing that he had fallen asleep on his actual journey back to Hogwarts - in a compartment of the old-fashioned, permanently bucking Hogwarts Express. It seemed an impossible task, especially as the temperature here, in the backside compartments, was ten degree lower on average than everywhere else on the train.

He had sufficient time to come to his senses before James Potter, coming from outside with a handful of Bertie Bott's Beans in each pocket, and Remus Lupin discovered that he had made his return to the waking world.

'Gosh, you must have been tired,' said Remus when the two of them and Peter settled down comfortably beside Sirius, offering him some of their new acquisitions. '_I_ can never sleep in this train for very long. Here, have a Chocolate Frog.'

Sirius took the twitching sweet and stuffed it into his mouth before it could hop away. Then, with a very interested look, he started examining the rest of James's belongings.

'One should think that you caught some sleep before going back to school,' stated the latter, quite unperturbed about Sirius's nosiness. 'Especially considering that we were going to start _you know what_ this evening!'

'Now, _come_ on!' said Remus with a horrified expression. 'You don't want to tell me you want to start breaking school rules right after the start-of-term feast?'

'You're right,' mumbled James. 'I tend to be too full to move.'

Peter laughed. 'Yeah, me too.'

Sirius grinned and then yawned.

'So, what's up?' Peter enquired curiously. 'Didn't you get any sleep tonight?'

'I have been lying on one of the stupid Cardinal's stone mattresses,' replied Sirius sourly. 'We got a Bundimun problem at home, so my parents will be spending the next couple of weeks with him.'

James frowned. 'What about Regulus?'

Sirius's gaze darkened. 'Guess what, he's here.'

'Oh,' said Peter, 'I forgot that your brother's coming to Hogwarts this year.'

'So did I,' replied Sirius curtly. 'Or, tried to. I would have managed, too, if he hadn't mentioned it to me seven times a day... on the average.'

'You think he'll be in Gryffindor, too?' enquired Lupin curiously. Sirius gave a dry laugh.

'_Regulus?_ In Gryffindor? He is too slow to make up his mind which shirt he is going to wear each day. The hat'll probably say: _Gryffindor? Nah. Not enough brains. Oops, same goes for Ravenclaw, I suppose. Let me see... Hufflepuff's full. As always. Full of idiots, that is. Slytherin? Nah. It reads c.u.n.n.i.n.g here. Dunno if that's true, but we gotta stick to the regulations, Regulus._' He paused, just for a second, and grinned. 'Get it? _Reg_ulations, _Reg_ulus.'

Remus gave him a docile grin. James rolled his eyes.

'No, _serious_ly. You really are living up to your name.'

'Talking of which, I am going to do the Quidditch commentary this year again,' remarked Sirius. 'Asked Professor McGonagall already. She said that it was fine, but if I was being biased, I would have to go.'

Peter stuck out his tongue. 'As if,' he said. 'Who would be wasting such a chance to suck up to the Deputy Headmistress just because of a stupid partiality?'

Sirius kicked him.

'I told her that I will most certainly be biased,' he said proudly. 'After all, it's our Jamesey playing out there, isn't it?'

James gave him a thankful look, only for a second side-glancing at Peter with something like contempt in his eyes.

Peter did not notice. 'Anyway,' he said, 'what kind of stupid nickname is 'Jamesey'? You really aren't very good at making them up, Sirius.'

James grinned. 'Not everyone can be as lucky as you are, Wormtail.'

Sirius stared.

'Worm...tail?'

'A little insider,' said James, making Peter flush with anger.

'Stop that nonsense!' demanded the smaller boy. 'You got no idea.'

'No, but I got a very good look, actually,' said James, still grinning. Sirius gave him a questioning one.

'Is there anything I should know about Pete's special equipment?'

Remus produced a snort of laughter, unable to hold it back.

'Not at all,' said James, while Peter started busying himself with Bertie Bott's Beans quite intently. 'You wouldn't want to.'

At that moment, the compartment door flung open and in stumbled a completely exhausted and frightened-looking first-year.

'Sirius! Sirius, you gotta see this!'

James regarded the boy for a while. Apart from the typical Black nose and his jet black hair, he did not look in the least like his older brother, and yet it was impossible to miss that they were related. Regulus had the same upright way of walking, the same ring of snobbishness in his voice, and very much the same facial expression as Sirius had. It was actually quite endearing.

'Hey there,' he grinned. 'You look like… a small… kind of distorted… Sirius.'

Sirius frowned.

Peter obviously felt very grown up as a third-year. Remus, on the other hand, seemed to be the only one interested in what Regulus actually had to say.

'What's happened?'

'They're kidnapping people!' panted Regulus. 'Dozens and dozens of people! C'mon! They're flying on carpets, you've _got_ to see this!'

'But carpets aren't to be enchanted under any...' began Remus, and then stopped as several faces appeared right in front of the compartment window, all hidden by pieces of black cloth or, sometimes, the edges of their hoods. They did look a bit like Dementors, Sirius found, only that they had no effect on the temperature within the compartment.

Six figures, to whom the faces belonged, were sitting on a flying carpet and apparently hovering alongside the Hogwarts Express. Sirius only barely had time to frown as the window glass suddenly shattered and two of the six (apparently males) jumped into the compartment that now filled with an unpleasant draught of cold late-summer air. It was only now Sirius realised that the train had stopped.

'We can't stop in the middle of nowhere,' he whispered. 'It's not safe...'

But there was no time for recollection. The two masked wizards grabbed Remus's arm and started dragging him towards the window. Sirius's brain suddenly snapped, all caution or sense leaving him in one go.

'Stop it!' he yelled, hauling himself at one of the black figures. 'James, c'mon! They're not taking Remus!'

James, it seemed, felt the same way and yet, his reaction had been slightly different. Instead of hauling himself at either of the two intruders, he had whipped out his wand, cast a stunner, and was now hanging upside down in the air on grounds of a counter curse one of the figures outside had cast. Their carpet was still hovering, and Sirius noticed that they had all taken out their wands.

'What is going on?' he whispered.

'Who are you?' snarled James.

'We are the rightful heirs to Salazar Slytherin's ideals!' cried one of the figures. 'Let go of the Half-blood, Sirius!'

Sirius did, out of sheer surprise of hearing his name. In a sudden, unexpected movement Remus was pulled out of the compartment and onto the carpet. It all happened so fast that Sirius had hardly any time to realise that this was partly his fault. He also realised, he was not the only one who had recognised the person's voice.

Remus kicked and screamed and called Sirius's cousin Bellatrix all sorts of names, which Sirius had not been aware the little werewolf even _knew_.

But soon, the last of the masked figures had mounted the carpet again, the window glass was being restored, and the carpet vanished into nothingness. Sirius stared after it in complete disbelief while James was rubbing his head, having fallen down from at least two feet above the ground. Peter was sitting on the floor, also staring. He had received a blow on the head from one of the wizards who had entered the compartment.

'They took Remus,' he squeaked after a while. 'What did they take Remus for?'

'They took dozens of other people as well,' came a voice from the door. Regulus had re-entered, having fled when the strange group outside had appeared. 'I told you...'

'Who are they?' roared Sirius. He jumped forward, took his brother's collar, and lifted him up in the air. 'What do you know about them?'

'Nothing,' puled Regulus. 'Just... the same's happened in all the other compartments as well. People are going mad out there.'

He was telling the truth. Sirius could hear the voices from outside.

'Still,' he hissed, 'if I find out you have anything to do with this... you'll _regret_ that you've ever come in here, trying to brag with your knowledge!'

He let his brother slump to the floor quite unceremoniously.

James had got up and was walking down the corridor now, towards the echoing voices of the other students. It seemed the whole train was suddenly in an uproar. People no longer remained in their compartments but were standing side by side in the narrow corridor trying to make sense of, it seemed, very similar experiences to what Sirius and his friends had just gone through.

Helplessly, Sirius looked back into the compartment and at James.

'What's going on?' he said once more. 'What the bloody hell are they kidnapping students for?'


	3. Robertson Entertainment

**

Robertson Entertainment

**

'SILENCE!'

The hustle and bustle of the students in the corridors was suddenly interrupted by a very firm, dark voice coming from the direction of the entrance doors. These doors, Timothy noticed, had been opened from the outside and a number of people clad in red (and sometimes blue) uniforms were climbing into the waggon. Among them Timothy saw his older brother Matth, his friend Sturgis Podmore who had obviously been promoted Sergeant, and some officers. He also recognised the person who had given the order. He was one of his Slytherin classmates' father and, Timothy knew, one of the leading officers within the army. Colonel, he seemed to remember.

'YOU!' the person in question bellowed. 'Get over there! How dare you!'

Some students moved around. More soldiers were filing in. Timothy could not see very well from his place, but he noticed that inside his compartment, Severus had jumped up from his seat, now pressing against the door from the inside, not making a sound.

'And YOU, Sirius Perseus Black!' the colonel continued, 'don't think I didn't see that! You two, come over here! NOW! _What_ happened!'

Timothy observed two of the Gryffindor boys in the front moving towards the bull-sized soldier at a snail's pace, not as cheeky, it seemed, as only one or two minutes ago. They were trying to explain what exactly had happened and how their friend had disappeared, which sounded very much like what Timothy had heard other people tell. A bunch of masked wizards and witches had appeared at the compartment window, someone had been snatched from almost each compartment - sometimes more than one - and then the mysterious intruders had vanished again, leaving everyone in doubt about their motives.

Colonel Snape listened to this story, then to another one sounding exactly the same, considered for a few seconds, and then started walking the corridors causing a number of students to hurriedly hop back into their compartments. It did not seem possible for two people to stand side by side in this corridor, especially if one of them was the size of a small dragon.

The colonel halted in front of Timothy's department. Like with the others, he peered in, apparently to count the people inside, but this time his look assumed a new quality at the sight of his son. For a moment, the big man just remained standing where he was, gazing into the face of his small son as though lost in thoughts, then he snapped back into reality.

'Severus,' he said sternly. 'Are you well?'

Timothy's friend gave a timid nod. 'Yes, sir,' he managed, noticeably avoiding the taller man's eyes as he did.

'Speak up,' said the soldier grumpily. 'And look me in the eye.'

Severus did. Timothy could see a brief spark of anger in his black eyes, which was gone the same instant.

'Yes, sir,' he managed once more, lifting his head just enough to return his father's glare. The soldier's eyes narrowed.

'Tone,' he hissed. Then straightened up again. 'Anyone missing from this compartment?'

Timothy shook his head.

'No, sir,' he replied. 'None of us. Only half-bloods, as far as I know. None of our kind.'

'That, at least, is something,' replied the Snape. 'A valuable point, Nott. I shall be wanting to investigate this matter.'

Timothy nodded briefly, waited until the man had left the compartment and then turned to Severus.

'What's up?'

Severus was brooding. 'Nothing,' he replied darkly.

Timothy decided to leave the matter at that. There was no use arguing with a Snape who had made up his mind. Instead, he began chatting about the event they had just witnessed. Just like his fellow students, Timothy had no intention to roam the train's corridor again now, knowing that at least three soldiers would be sitting in each waggon, guarding. Even after the train had taken up normal speed again, it was unusually quiet everywhere. No wonder, Timothy thought. Most people had just lost a friend or relative through the window of their compartment. And still no one knew why.

Then, suddenly, the door slid open again. Slowly, as if trying to make this a surprise, the lanky figure of Rodney Robertson appeared in its frame. A soldier of low rank, who had taken up the position of the Potions teacher during Timothy's and Severus's second year at Hogwarts. Now, it seemed, he was happily back in the army and serving under Colonel Snape as he had used to the years before.

Timothy knew all this, because Severus had mentioned it more than once during the last year. Still, when Robertson's face appeared in his sight Timothy could not help remembering how the blonde man had given him the best marks he had ever received for any subject in his life. Severus, on the other hand, had used to regularly fall to pieces in Potions that year. Timothy had observed, not without worry, how Severus had started skiving off the subject he had used to get carried away with, had failed one essay after the other, and how he had got into regular fights with the man who was now standing in the compartment doorway, grinning contemptuously down at the small, black-haired boy. Severus gazed up, his face darkening. Robertson on the other hand, settled down next to Timothy and in front of Severus, addressing the latter.

'You not been kidnapped?'

Severus glared.

'I didn't think they'd take you,' remarked Robertson. 'The Colonel didn't either. One would have expected him to worry, no? What with this train being attacked... and his only son in it... but he was all cool and unmoved. We could see it from the distance, you see. From The Forest. The train goes right through it, although all you can see from in here is Muggle Scotland. That's how it is meant to be, of course. They don't want you youngsters to be scared of The Forest.'

'What forest?' said Timothy, finding himself curious in spite of Severus's murderous facial expression. 'There trees all around.' And he pointed at the landscape outside.

'Yes, but that isn't _The_ Forest,' replied Robertson impatiently. 'Surely you have heard how the wizarding world is glued together by the old place?'

Both boys were shaking their heads now.

'In ancient times,' Robertson explained, 'there was just our world, which we shared with the Muggles, and there was _the place_, which only a selected number of people even knew, but no one lived there. Warlocks went there every now and then, of course, and some Muggle priests had heard of it, but never actually been there. They couldn't go, of course, not without magic. No one was interested in _the place_, until Merlin found a way to use The Forest to our advantage. We started having a necessity for places that no Muggle could go to, and Merlin built these places inside The Forest. A bit like the old settlers used to in the original world. You cannot simply cut down the trees, of course. It is all done via spells and incantations neither of you would be capable of using.' He grinned.

Severus looked up. 'What does this forest look like?' he said quietly, his voice as small as ever, but with an edge to it. Robertson gave him a belittling smile.

'You would probably pee in your pants should you ever go there. Most students do at one point, out of sheer curiosity - although I doubt you've had the guts so far. It needs pure nerve to walk through The Forest, especially by yourself.'

'Hang on,' said Timothy, frowning. 'You mean to say that the Forbidden Forest is part of this... this place?'

'Naturally,' replied Robertson coldly. 'What did you think? Hogwarts is the only place where you can enter The Forest as easily as that, by the way. We try to shut it out. Imagine if just anyone walking Diagon Alley could suddenly end up in a place like that. Only soldiers are allowed to pass it, and apart from Hogwarts there is only three entrances that are technically accessible for the common wizarding people. And, of course, there is leaks every now and then, which we try to repair as soon as we become aware of them. King's Cross was such a leak only a few weeks ago, but luckily we found it and have been able to stop people from going through now.'

Timothy shook his head. 'You mean it is completely forbidden to cross this... forest?'

'Of course, stupid,' said Robertson impatiently. 'That's why it is called _Forbidden_ Forest. Hogwarts is an exception, though, because to learn how to deal with all that is in The Forest and thus our magical world, one needs to get in contact with it every now and then. I still think Dumbledore could have a closer eye on it, as especially Gryffindors like to sneak off and into it every once in a while, but he seems to think it...' He considered for a few moments, 'instructive,' he then said. 'I believe that's how he put it.'

'So this 'forest' looks basically like the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts?' said Timothy curiously. Robertson shrugged and nodded.

'But don't think it is as harmless as it looks from the outside. When you're in it, it looks more like a jungle really. Very dark... one can feel it's endlessness. There is all sorts of unknown factors in there. Animals, Magical Creatures... are you doing Care of Magical Creatures already?'

Timothy shook his head. 'We're only entering third year now.'

'Well, you'll love it,' said Robertson. It is closely linked with Defence Against The Dark Arts, only easier, and even more practical when it comes to walking The Forest. And you will,' he nodded at Timothy with an annoying smile under his blonde goatee, 'even if Severus doesn't.'

'I have been to this forest,' Severus suddenly said, and Timothy gave him a surprised look.

'You have?'

'Yes,' said Severus simply. 'It was an accident. I met Sergeant Podmore in there, but I didn't find it particularly frightening and I certainly didn't see any wild animals.'

'You've been lucky then,' said Robertson coldly. 'Podmore is lenient. Usually, people are not allowed in The Forest, accident or not. The colonel would have torn you to pieces, had he been the one to find you.'

Timothy saw Severus's eyes widen in horror for a second, and then narrow again, angrily.

'What do you know?' he spat. 'Father would have known it was an accident!'

Robertson shrugged. 'I told you, it doesn't matter.' Suddenly, a small, evil smile appeared on his face and Timothy felt that it sent a shiver down his own back. 'If I was you,' the man continued, 'I'd want to be sure that he doesn't find out. A simple lie will do.' He grinned.

Severus's face assumed the colour of sour milk.

'I _won't!_' he said hurriedly. 'I... I mean I don't...'

'...lie,' interrupted Robertson. 'I know. I wish you the best of luck then.' He raised. 'Thank you for the entertainment,' he said. 'Unfortunately for all of us, I have other duties to attend to. But I shall be interested to hear how you wind yourself out of this one, Severus. The colonel really isn't in the best of moods these days anyway.'

He nodded again, grinning lightly, and left the compartment. Severus remained sitting, dumbstruck, staring after the lanky soldier first, and then at Timothy.

'You think he is going to tell on me?' he whispered after a moment's forced silence.

Timothy shook his head. 'He is teasing you,' he replied. 'I can see why. It is too easy to have you on, mate. You look hilarious when you're afraid.'

'I'm not,' retorted Severus. 'I'm never afraid.'

But that was a lie, and Timothy knew it.


	4. Investigations

**

Investigations

**

The headmaster's office was dimly lit as usual by the silvery shimmer of some of the gadgets he stored in the numerous shelves along the walls and on his desk. There was a ringing in the air, which Minerva mistook for the tiny permanent sound that had appeared in her head earlier this year at first but then recognised from earlier visits in this room.

Fawkes was sitting in his usual place near the desk and regarded her cautiously with more interest than a common phoenix was supposed to display. Minerva wished the headmaster would let her in on his secrets once in a while, at least enough for her not having to fear being attacked by a raging bird every time she entered his office. And Fawkes certainly seemed to be guarding Dumbledore's numerous belongings. At least Minerva thought he did.

With a rather brusque gesture she took the Sorting Hat off his shelf and put it on her head, careful not to interfere with her hair, which was carefully fastened in a bun. Her first impression on the new first-years was representative after all. Just for a few moments each year her person was synonymous with the school's reputation. And a good reputation it was. She did not intend to change that.

'Minerva McGonagall,' said the hat pleasantly. 'As stressed as ever, I see?'

It was a rhetorical question. Minerva frowned.

'Hat,' she said sternly, 'stop peering into my mind and tell me whether you are ready to present us with another song.'

'All up and ready,' replied the hat cheerfully. 'Wanna hear?'

'Not now,' said the deputy headmistress. 'In a moment. And I am warning you now - if there are naughty bits in it again I will make the headmaster sell you to an oxfam shop.'

She left the office, carefully seeing to that the gargoyle shut the entrance as it was supposed to, and headed towards the ground level again.

'I ought to have put you in Ravenclaw at your time,' sighed the hat, still firmly on her head. 'You would have learned how to cope with stress there.'

'Father would have been delighted,' said Minerva sourly. 'And mother, come to think of it. She likes having clever people in the family.'

'Well, and the prerequisites are there, of course,' said the hat, giving Minerva the distinct impression that he was grinning.

'No impertinence,' she said simply.

'Oh, the McGillivrays have always been cause for delight on my part,' replied the hat, seeming quite unperturbed. 'You cannot tell me you are not as exceedingly fond of your uncle Angus as ever.'

'You are right,' said Minerva sharply, 'it would be of no use claiming the opposite, as you are likely to read my mind anyway. Habitually, I hope for your sake.'

'Habitually,' confirmed the hat. 'And it is not called mind-reading.'

'Admittedly, hats cannot actually read,' said Minerva tartly. 'But I refuse to call it Legilimency in your case. You are missing out on the eye-contact part.'

The hat laughed. 'Thanks. I needed that. Give my love to Angus when you see him, will you? He will have to tell me about the kilt incident over a jar of butterbeer.'

'I will,' said Minerva, removing the hat from her head as she entered the Great Hall and placing it on its four-legged stool beside the stage Emeric Flitwick had put up the day before.

The hat moved as though it was throwing in another remark, but Minerva found that she did not have the nerve of listening to any more of his rambling.

Instead, she left the room and walked towards the entrance doors, opened them - and bumped into a shiny red piece of cloth over the enormous chest of a well-known person.

'Lance!' she snapped, recovering from the shock of almost running into a Snape at such an unexpected place and time. 'What are you doing here?'

'I am seeing your students safely to their destination,' was the soldier's dark reply. 'Half of them, that is. I regret to say that the other half has been abducted from the train tonight before we were able to break the safety barrier between the railway line and The Forest.'

'Abducted?' Minerva was fully alert all of a sudden, clapping one hand before her mouth in horror. 'You mean someone kidnapped them from the train?'

'So to speak,' replied the soldier, moving into the Entrance Hall to give way to the crowd of older students, who started filing through the doors and were entering the Great Hall in a row of twos.

'But how...' began the deputy headmistress, 'who...'

'The Knights,' prompted Snape senior. 'On carpets. Yes, through The Forest. Don't look at me like that. I cannot imagine how they got in... Certainly not through Camden.'

'Na-naturally,' said Minerva feebly. 'But how...'

'Investigations are continuing,' said the soldier curtly. 'For now, I want you to proceed with the sorting ceremony as planned.'

'But...' said Minerva, 'we cannot just... you'll have to...'

'_We_ have to make sure the students do not break into a panic once they find out we cannot guarantee their absolute safety any longer,' hissed the Snape, careful to avoid being overheard by any of the children close by. 'I shall be talking to the headmaster in a moment. Just for now make sure no one steps out of line, understood?'

Minerva could not remember, in later years, whether she had actually nodded to this. Lance, in any case, did, curtly, and left the Entrance Hall heading towards the headmaster's study.

Minerva realised that he would be facing an unmoving gargoyle only when he had vanished around the corner. Albus Dumbledore had been certain that the matter of the more recent attacks would keep him in London until the next day.

'Ah well,' the deputy headmistress decided, 'there will still be time to tell him that the headmaster is currently unavailable when he returns.' And with this, she strut out of the castle as originally intended.

A number of heated, curious little faces awaited her outside at the bottom of the marble staircase. Their number had decreased by at least eight or ten, Minerva noted. What was left of her spine now vanished at the sight of the eleven-year-olds' expressions. They displayed only too clearly what was going on inside their heads. Minerva searched for a single unaffected face - and found none. Who on earth would kidnap a random number of students from a school train?

She nodded at Hagrid, who seemed thoroughly unperturbed from what she could make out. Had the soldiers failed to inform him of what had happened? Assuming that there was no necessity to let a half-giant in on matters concerning the wizarding community? Minerva thought it quite probable and pursed her lips. She could see the area surrounding the lake being guarded by Lance's troops and almost waited for a red-coated individual to pop up behind Hagrid's back, declaring that he had been joining the first-years on their journey over the lake all along.

But nothing of the sort happened.

Thus, Minerva contented herself with giving Hagrid a small nod and leading the remaining first-years into the chamber attached to the Great Hall for a short introduction to the four house ghosts. This long-lasting tradition had the most satisfactory effect on the children's discipline she had found out, and made even more of an impression, quite naturally, than the castle itself or its surroundings.

First, however, there was the matter of introducing the newcomers to the school's rules and regulations, which was her happy duty every year. Minerva took a deep breath, watching the children's faces turning apprehensive once more before finally speaking, as firmly as the situation allowed.

'In spite of what just happened I welcome you to Hogwarts. In a moment, I shall be leading you into the Great Hall where we take our meals and have all assemblies in the course of the year. You will join the start-of-term banquet after you have been sorted in your houses. There is four of those. Gryffindor, which is under my supervision, Ravenclaw, lead by Professor Emeric Flitwick, Hufflepuff, under the care of Professor Mandragora Sprout, and Slytherin, which just got a new Head of House to whom you will be introduced in a few moments.'

She actually managed to produce a smile, if only a small one. The children were listening in nerve-racking silence. Some of them looked as though kidnappers might jump out and snatch them away any minute. Minerva, remembering Lance Snape's words, felt that she would have to distract them of the horrible things they had apparently observed, giving their minds something new to focus on.

'Discipline,' she therefore said, 'is regarded as an initial prerequisite for attending this faculty. Anyone stepping out of line will be punished - whereas exemplary behaviour will be considered in your end-of-term-grades. For those of you coming from Muggle backgrounds it is important to note that in contrast to your previous experiences Hogwarts students are strictly forbidden to cut their hair above collar length. I am well aware that this is exactly the opposite to the Muggle custom, but rest assured that any breach of this rule will be seen and punished as a serious offence. Your hair is part of your school uniform, as much as your robes and hats.'

She took a short breath and continued to gaze around. Quite a few Malfoys this year, she concluded from the look of their pointed faces, and at least one Black.

She realised that practically every person in the room had the typical looks of one or the other Pureblood family and in a sudden, purely affective reaction she heard her own voice ask: 'There _are_ Muggleborns among you, are there not? Raise your arm, please, if your parents are not both part of the wizarding society.'

Not a single child moved.

Minerva closed her eyes for a second, a horrible realisation dawning, too horrible for her to finish this train of thoughts.

'Ve-very well then,' she said weakly. 'I... as for the others...' She fought with all might to not lose control now. 'I would like to point out that a different level of concentration and hard work will be expected of you once you have started lessons than what you are probably used to from your life at home. Hogwarts is a culturally overarching institution, so you will occasionally find those who in _some families_ are called 'half-breeds' among your fellow students.'

She would have to talk to Lance. Urgently. The speech's part about Muggleborns remained unmentioned for some reason.

'I would like to point out,' she continued instead, 'that any name-calling concerning race, species or gender, including certain _discourteous_ expressions towards Muggle-born wizards or witches, will infallibly land you in the thrashing vault.'

Some of the children gaped. Others seemed embarrassed.

'Very well,' said Minerva eventually, careful not to let her expression give her thoughts away, 'you will wait here until you are called. The Sorting will begin momentarily.'

And with this she stepped out of the room, wiping a trace of sweat from her own forehead. Muggleborns. Only Muggleborns.

At the end of the Entrance Hall, she caught a glimpse of Snape senior again, who was striding towards her in long, determined steps.

'The headmaster isn't in,' he informed her.

'I know,' said Minerva quietly. 'I forgot to tell you that he will not return until tomorrow.'

The Snape's gaze darkened. 'What is that supposed to mean? He would miss the beginning of term.'

'Urgent engagements down at the Ministry,' said Minerva weakly. 'Will you...'

'When did he go down there?' interrupted the soldier. Minerva frowned.

'Last night,' she replied. 'He got an urgent owl...' She stopped. Realisation dawning.

'The matter will have to be investigated,' said the Snape, as firmly as ever. 'But it seems you have been fooled. I keep telling the headmaster to install additional security measures to his correspondence system, but he, of course, has his own mind.'

'Listen, Lance,' said Minerva again, more urge in her voice than before, 'did you notice that it is only Muggleborns who have been abducted from the train? Or at least all that were there must have been taken. I distinctly remember almost half of the new first-years coming from Muggle backgrounds when I wrote the letters, and yet there is only Purebloods left in that room.'

She pointed at the chamber next to the Great Hall.

'We have started investigations on the matter,' said the soldier in his usual, stern calmness. 'A typical incident, of course, regarding the Knights' other actions.'

Minerva nodded.

'Very... very well,' she said quietly. 'I shall have to go in for an entrance speech, then do the Sorting. Will you be around this evening? I shall try and call the headmaster back from London, but I cannot make any promises.'

'I shall be off to London immediately,' replied the soldier. 'To see what is going on. And whether the headmaster really has an engagement. But yes, I'll be back in the evening. We will have to decide on our next steps.'

Minerva nodded. 'You may use my fireplace, if you like. Floo powder is useless for entering the Ministry, however. They have put up new security...'

'I am aware of that,' said the Snape curtly. 'You forget that I happen to be there every other week.'

Minerva nodded. 'Of course.

And they parted. With considerably more on her head than only this morning, the deputy headmistress entered the Great Hall to greet the remaining students.

* * *

Severus Snape was in trouble. 

There were four people standing around him, not pointing wands at him for once. Then again, one could not trust Potter's clenched fists, of course, or Black's massive body, both of which were potential weapons as Severus realised when they moved towards him slowly, calculatingly, seeming to search for something he was carrying with him at the moment.

The situation was surreal.

He decided to wake up.

Upon realising that this resolution would not prevent him from getting beaten up, Severus recoiled.

'You... you're not allowed to... you'll see what you get out of...'

'I want my book back, Snivellus!' snarled Potter, utterly indignant of the smaller boy's behaviour. 'And I'll get it, believe me. Do I have to undress you in front of all these people? Just go on stealing if that's what you want!'

'No magic in the corridors,' prompted Severus, 'and I haven't seen your stupid book!' Come to think of it, he was, in fact, exceedingly frightened, but at the same time he knew that there was no way Potter could put his threat into practice without landing himself in detention - or worse. 'You are a show-off!' he thus snapped. 'An idiot and a show-off. Naughty-haughty Gryffindors, all of you!'

Given the circumstances, he might have chosen another retort. Potter was with him in two steps and grabbed his collar.

'Listen, _sniffo_,' he snarled, 'you hand that book back, or I'll hunt you down as far as Slytherin house to get it! You will regret having known me when I'm finished with you!'

Severus scowled. 'I don't have your stupid book,' he repeated. 'What would I want with a Transfiguration book? Burn it?'

'And yet, you seem to know its content,' whispered Potter. 'I am not stupid, dumbass.'

Severus cringed. Faux pas.

Several students were standing near by now, watching the proceedings, but a sudden very sharp voice interrupted Potter in his attempt to search Severus's robes and bag for the book he had lost.

'_If_ you do not mind, gentlemen, I would like to begin.'

Potter and Black jumped back to their seats.

Severus looked around and retreated to his own as quickly as he could. He had not realised that so many people had been watching. Then again, what could you expect if you got into a quarrel in the middle of the Great Hall?

'We,' said Professor McGonagall, enthroned on the headmaster's usual chair, 'are once again facing a year of special circumstances. Some of you might have heard of the schedule changes we are undergoing at the moment. There will be no more choice between Merish and Centauri this year, given that our budget for language has been shortened considerably, and, of course, no more human languages. There will be advanced courses for you sixth formers, but the details of that please ask Dr. Babelfish to relate to you.'

She pointed at a small wizard to her left.

Severus glanced at the Gryffindor table, and realised that they were still watching him. All, that is, but Black, to whom the language department cuts seemed horrible news indeed. Severus grinned.

'But more importantly,' went Professor McGonagall on, 'you have all seen what happened on the train. I regret to say that for your own safety, there will be a number of drastic safety measures, just for the moment, to ensure that no one else gets lost or kidnapped. Thus, the entrance to the Forbidden Forest will be sealed with a magical wall, which can be enabled or disabled only if at least three members of staff speak the incantation. So do not even try and break through it. You will not be successful. This is, as you all know, because the Forbidden Forest seamlessly fades to The Forest connecting the wizarding world. And we don't want any of you anywhere near this place at present. There will furthermore be a number of army members guarding the entrance doors and any trip to Hogsmeade is strictly cancelled until we have word of their officials that the area is safe.'

There was a wave of protest. But only a small one. People were staring at the deputy headmistress in horror, some of them only now realising in how much danger they had actually been.

'Finally,' the deputy headmistress concluded, 'We expect perfectly exemplary behaviour from all of you. If you do not want to endanger your own life and that of others, don't mess around!'

Severus got the impression that she was regarding the Slytherin table more piercingly than all the others, but it might have been a reflection of the light.

He certainly was not going to fool around, he realised. Not with everyone so upset, Potter and Black more than ready to kill everyone in their sight as it seemed, and the awareness that, in spite of his innocent expression, Lucius Malfoy knew more about the matter than he was ready to admit.


	5. Add on Duty

**

Add-on Duty

**

When the sun set, the inhabitants of the stationary army camp in M'bwa, South Africa retreated into their tents. There were two rows of six tents, and the general's domicile at the Southern end. The plain wasflickering with heat and only the occasional sound of footsteps assured the people inside that there was still someone watching out for potential intruders.

Rodney Robertson was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his one-man tent - the only one in the camp - pretending that there was someone he could talk to.

'Insufferable,' he stated quietly, not taking his eyes off a little fly that was buzzing in one of the top corners. 'This is completely annoying. I mean, honestly - what do they join the army for if they aren't prepared to do a little work.'

'Very true,' came a voice from the door, and Rodney sat up with a start.

'Sir!'

He made to stand to attention, but the visitor raised his hand, motioning him to remain sitting. It was the camp's colonel and only Snape currently in the service of the wizarding army, apart from the Field Marshal himself, as Rodney knew.

'Quiet, Sergeant,' said the colonel calmly. 'Sneak Alarm 246 and utmost caution are the order. Everyone be alert now.'

'Again?' said Rodney sourly. 'That would be the seventh drill this month. What is going on?'

'A safety measure,' explained the colonel, sitting down at one end of Rodney's bed. 'It is not a drill.' The bed swayed dangerously and then inclined to one side. Rodney leaned back.

'What then?' he said. 'Is there an attack?'

'Not as such,' said the colonel darkly. 'But there is a safety leak somewhere in the camp. A person has entered square 447 without permission and now we seem unable to locate him.'

'Doesn't that mean everyone ought to be out there looking for the intruder?' said Rodney, marvelling at the Snape's apparent composure, and then stopped, realisation dawning. 'You know who it is, right? You have been worried all afternoon.'

'I have a feeling that I know who is out there,' confirmed the colonel, not quite meeting Rodney's eyes. 'That is the reason I am here.'

The young Sergeant felt an icy shiver run down his spine. He could hardly breathe, trying not to think of what the colonel was openly implying.

'V-Vim...' he said in the end, feeling that all his body had turned so cold that no limb would move now.

'He broke out of Azkaban this morning,' said Colonel Snape quietly. 'It is just a theory, but I think it is highly likely that he will want to see you.'

Rodney did not move for some time, then nodded with difficulty. 'Of course. But...' It seemed so unlikely. 'Wasn't today when they swapped... you know...'

'The Dementors have arrived at the prison today,' replied the Snape darkly. 'And that is the exact moment he chose to disappear. Knew that it was his last chance, most probably. Once the Dementors are in place, no one will ever break out of Azkaban again.'

Rodney nodded. It seemed logical. 'But... how did he do it?'

'You know he can apparate better than anyone around,' said the colonel. 'That is also why I suspect him to be our intruder. No one else could have invaded 447 just like that.'

'L-logically,' said Rodney weakly. 'And... and he is coming for me?'

'I would expect it,' said the colonel. 'After what he said at Mull... you still haven't given me the details, by the way. As in time and place of the incident.'

'You must excuse me,' said Rodney quickly.

'It might have been important to have the information when we were charging him,' said Colonel Snape quietly. 'You and your pride, Rodney. It has got you into trouble more than once.'

'It's not pride,' replied the Sergeant, realising that he was reluctant about this conversation. 'It's just... I don't want to talk about it.'

'There is things one has to talk about,' said Colonel Snape firmly. 'And this is one that might have got Viminal into the ground level. Where I am sure he could not have escaped so easily.'

Rodney nodded again, as weakly. He was not sure what the colonel was aiming at, but got the feeling that now, if ever, was the moment to speak about what had happened at the Isle of Mull so many years ago.

'You think it is important,' he thus said after a small while, 'don't you?'

'I think it is bound to be,' replied the Snape. 'It was your first encounter with my brother - this one, that is. And it clearly made him approach your grandmother a few years later. So, yes, I believe it is important.'

'I hardly remember anything,' said Rodney after a small while. 'No, seriously. I was only a child, after all. Eleven or twelve, or so. No, younger. I hadn't entered Hogwarts. Anyway, I seem to think there was this incident involving Lupin and his ridiculous...'

'It was the time when Lupin entered the army's service,' said Colonel Snape calmly. 'Is that what you mean?'

Rodney gave him a brief glare before grudgingly averting his eyes. 'Yes, sir.'

'Continue,' said the colonel simply. Rodney sighed.

'I remember,' he mused, 'being there because my step-grandfather was...'

The colonel interrupted.

'How come you call Palatine by his correct title, whereas you address Viminal as though he was your real father?'

Rodney was at a loss.

'Anyway,' said the Snape quickly, apparently regretting his inconsiderate interruption, 'continue.'

'My step-grandfather was doing some investigation up there with some of the lads,' said Rodney pensively. 'Concerning the ancient runes, you remember? The old markings of...'

'I remember,' said the Snape. 'What then?'

'Well, I was fascinated by this person they kept locked in the cage,' went Rodney on. 'Do you remember him? One of the barbarians. He was black, and at first I thought that was the reason they'd locked him in and...' He broke off watching the colonel's face, which did not move an inch.

'You visited Thaibary?'

'Every day,' said Rodney. 'I just felt so sorry for him. But he didn't speak our language, of course, so he couldn't tell me the reason why he was sitting in that cage day and night, and why people were so cautious approaching him, and constantly going on about what food he would like. I think he wasn't happy about it.'

'What happened?' said Colonel Snape impatiently. 'I am well aware they were keeping him at the time. He was supposed to be a weapon. Without my approval, I must say. But thanks to your... is he your uncle?'

'Who?'

'Richard Robertson, of course,' said the colonel impatiently. 'The person I risked my head for.'

'They say he is my uncle, yes,' replied Rodney, not without hesitation. The Snape frowned.

'What are you talking about?'

'Well, I keep thinking that there has to be a person out there who, biologically speaking, would be my father,' said Rodney coldly. 'You said he didn't die, the army records don't mention any recent Robertson deaths, except for Rusticus, who wasn't old enough for...'

'I know what you mean,' said the Snape, clearly intending to avoid this topic. 'You were telling me about Vim.'

'Well,' said Rodney uneasily, 'it was in front of the barbarian's cage where I met him first. He was... just suddenly there and we talked.' He hesitated. This was the bit he did not like to tell. 'Well, he did things. You know what he is like. And then suddenly my uncle appeared and they were having a fight...'

'Verbally?' interrupted the Snape.

'With wands,' said Rodney quietly. 'It was the night when the barbarian got out. A stray spell. Nothing too surprising, really. It just broke the lock.'

Colonel Snape seemed surprised. 'You mean none of you let it out on purpose?'

'No,' said Rodney. 'Did they tell you otherwise?'

'Your uncle told me it was you who did it,' replied the colonel. 'That is, he seemed to be protecting you, so I made some more enquiries. When realising that he could blame you for everything, however, he was happy to change his course.' His gaze had darkened considerably. 'I should have known. And it is young Lupin, of course, who is bearing the consequences now.'

Rodney blushed. Hesitated, and then sighed. 'It was father who cast the spell in question,' he said quietly. 'So you might want to consider whether you trust my statement considering the purpose behind it.'

The Snape stared at him. 'What do you mean?'

'I am a Snape,' whispered Rodney. 'There is many things you can say against that, but I have never had any fathers but for Snapes. And that leaves a mark.'

'I suppose,' said the colonel pensively, not wanting to explore the topic any further. 'I shall investigate on the matter then. Anything else I need to be told?'

There was the sound of footsteps, and suddenly a person appeared at the entrance of the tent.

'Colonel Snape,' said a man's voice, who was standing in the shade and thus hardly visible, 'the intruder escaped. The general wants you in his tent.'

Rodney observed distinct changes on the colonel's face, not a specific reaction, however.

'Very well,' he said. 'I shall be taking the Sergeant, however. Security measure.'

The man nodded and vanished. Colonel Snape rose.

'Well then,' he said, 'we will have to continue this at a later point, Sergeant. Duty calls.'

'Yes, sir,' said Rodney happily, knowing that it would be a long time until they got the chance for a conversation like this one again. He rose. 'Let's see what the general has to say.'

* * *

The lights had been shut down about half an hour ago. Lucius felt that staying inside the deserted library at this time of the night might cost him the shiny Head Boy badge he had received with his Hogwarts letter before the start of term this year. The library was out of bounds at night, even for privileged students, and thus protected by some very effective security curses, which Lucius simply refused to believe could kill. He knew that as long as he did not touch any of the books he would be safe, but he was not quite sure if Severus had received the same intelligence. 

Now, where to look for the boy? Lucius had not seen him in here since his last encounter with James Potter, where he had come off with a lot more than just a few bruises again, for the first time in months. Lucius sighed. He had hoped Potter and his friends would have lost their interest in bullying his little friend by now. They were, after all, in their third year now. An age in which he, Lucius, had actually started growing up. At least he thought he had. It was hard to remember, as these days had long passed. Lucius glanced at his Head Boy badge and smiled.

And then he saw him. Curled up in a corner, clutching a huge, black book (how had he managed to get it off the shelf?) against his chest was Severus Snape, fast asleep. His breathing was flat but even and a small bunch of hair was fluttering against his face with every breath he took. He looked so peaceful and innocent that Lucius hesitated for a second. The last few months had been rough for the boy. He remembered the funeral of Severus's mother (his aunt, as it happened) and, more importantly, the look on the Colonel's (his uncle's) face when they let her into the grave. Lucius was used to unpleasant people, having his mother around twenty-four hours a day during the holidays, but his uncle, he though, had suffered so greatly from the loss of his wife that his usual grumpy mood had given way to a look of general menace whenever he looked at you. Whenever he looked at his son.

Lucius did know that Severus and his father were having a somewhat difficult time. It was traditional in the Snape family, his own father had informed him, that at some point during the teenage of a Snape son he had to be reminded of traditions and values. All Snape fathers had to deal with a short period of time in which their son questioned everyone and everything that was good and traditional.

Lucius was sure that, if any such time was about to come to pass, this would be a rather inconvenient moment for it, as Colonel Snape clearly needed some time for himself now, to get over the death of his wife. Then again, Lucius thought, Severus was at Hogwarts now and other people's responsibility. His, for example, in his function as the Head Boy. He bent down and took a curious look at the book Severus was holding.

'_Why It Cannot Be Called Mind-Reading_,' he read aloud and Severus woke with a start.

'What -'

'You're out of bounds again,' Lucius whispered, fighting a small smile that threatened to be playing around his lips. 'I should put you in detention.'

'I was reading,' Severus muttered. 'And I fell asleep.'

'I thought you had an accident or something.'

'I - wasn't aware that you were looking for me.'

'You're never aware of anything, Severus,' said Lucius angrily. 'You never notice when someone really cares about you.'

'You care about Slytherin,' Severus retorted. 'And you 'look after' me, because you promised it to your father. You hate it. Don't think I don't know.'

Lucius stopped to consider about how much truth lay in these words.

'You had another fight today,' he finally stated, looking slightly uncomfortable. 'Naturally I was worried.'

'You thought I was hiding, didn't you?' Severus spat. 'You thought I was crying my eyes out, feeling sorry for myself.'

Lucius stopped again, this time in surprise. Then, deciding to stick to the truth, he nodded. Severus glared at him.

'Well, I am not.'

The subsequent silence was unnerving.

'Why are you reading books about Legilimency?' Lucius enquired after a short while to put an end to the embarrassment of the situation. 'And where did you find it?'

'Down here,' said Severus, pointing vaguely at one of the bookshelves. 'I find it rather interestingly written.'

'A waste of time,' said Lucius derisively. 'You will never be able to do Legilimency. Only the greatest of our kind have ever mastered it.'

Severus shrugged. 'It doesn't say how you do it, anyway,' he replied thoughtfully. 'There's no book about that in here.'

'That would be because it is classified as Dark Magic,' Lucius remarked. 'There is probably some material about it in the Restricted Section. Why do you care anyway? It is one of the most obscure branches of magic. As far as I know, there's only two wizards alive who have a full understanding of it - and make use of this knowledge. Dumbledore and one you wouldn't have heard about.'

Severus gave him a blank stare. Lucius considered for a while if it had been a mistake to mention the second person to a third-year in the middle of the Hogwarts library, but fortunately it did not seem to be him Severus seemed to be interested in.

'What do you mean Dumbledore - you mean he can break into people's minds?'

'I am not sure he does it very often, to be honest,' Lucius said, 'but I know he can. People have seen him do it. As a demonstration. He has been known to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. But again, what's it to you?'

Severus shrugged. 'It's... fascinating.'

'I bet,' muttered Lucius. 'Well, don't you think we should get out of here before a teacher does come and put you in detention?'

Severus did not reply. He got up, straightened his robes and carefully put the book back into the shelf.

'Why didn't it scream or bite your hand off anyway?' Lucius said curiously. 'Do you know how to overcome the spells in here?'

'No,' said Severus casually, 'but there's a simple trick to it. Nothing startling, really. If you take the book out in the afternoon and read it well into the night, nothing happens. Though you have got to be careful not to touch any other books when putting it back into its shelf.'

Lucius grinned and shook his head. 'You are so clever, mate. Why do you keep getting into trouble?'

Severus did not reply. When they were walking down the stairs to the dungeons and Slytherin house, however, he suddenly stopped and turned to look straight into Lucius's eyes. The elder wizard was startled at first, then, taking in the seriousness of Severus's expression, gave him a smack on the back of his black-haired head.

'I said you were clever, not a genius. Stop it, Severus! It is no use.'

'It can't be that difficult,' Severus said defensively, rubbing his head. 'If Dumbledore can do it...'

'...why not an ickle _third-year_ you mean?' snorted Lucius. 'Well, maybe because Dumbledore is one of the most powerful wizards on earth? Really, Severus, I like you. But you tend to hilariously overestimate yourself. You will never be able to read anyone's mind.'

Severus scowled. 'You would say that. But you don't know anything,' he mumbled.

There was a short silence. When they had reached the Slytherin common room (deserted, of course, as everyone was in bed at this time of the night) Lucius turned to bid the small boy goodnight. Severus, however, seemed to have something else in mind.

'Lucius,' he said, very quietly as if afraid that anyone would overhear their conversation, 'who... you know something about the Knights, don't you?'

Lucius was surprised to say the least about this sudden very rational question of the small boy, who usually seemed so distract about things that might be of importance. So instead of dismissing this question as too dangerous for being discussed inside Hogwarts walls, not considering the consequences of this statement, he said quietly, conspiratorially: 'What do you want to know?'


	6. The New Potionsmaster

**

The New Potions Master

**

Sirius Black was standing on tiptoes in front of the deputy headmistress's office and was peering through a gap between the doorframe and the door, which exposed a small part of the room to him, in which the Professor's desk and two chairs were positioned. On one of the chairs, the one closer to the window, Severus Snape was sitting and reading a book, the title of which Sirius could not make out from such a distance.

The Professor, it seemed, was walking through the room asking questions, but Sirius could not tell for sure, as she was currently out of sight. Also, the anti-eavesdropping spell on the door and the walls of the office made sure that no sound emerged from it, not even the reverberation of steps or any of the two voices.

For a while, Sirius had wondered what Snape was doing in there all by himself. Then the Transfiguration Professor had appeared in his sight and complicated the matter. Very clearly, Snape was not getting a lecture, as he seemed deeply emerged in his book. But why would he need to do his reading assignments in the presence of a teacher? Had he missed out on handing in an essay once too often? Not unlikely, Sirius resolved.

Then, suddenly, the small boy took out his wand, tapped a quill that was lying in front of him on the desk and Sirius observed a few pale green sparks shooting from his wand in the direction of the quill.

Nothing happened.

At once, Professor McGonagall was at Snape's side, obviously correcting a mistake he had made. Sirius grinned. The tall witch was wearing her hair in a black bun, as usual. Her robes, however, were not of an emerald green for once, but deep black and cut in a very traditional way making them look like the dress robes his mother wore for marriages and funerals. Sirius wondered why. Snape, on the other hand, started another attempt at transfiguring the quill. Again, nothing happened.

With an impact of fury McGonagall grabbed his wrist (Sirius could just imagine her losing her patience over the small Slytherin's stupidity) and tried to move it in the correct way for the spell to work.

'No, no, no!' she seemed to say, demonstrating the movement Snape was supposed to do. The small Slytherin, Sirius observed with at least as much surprise as his Transfiguration teacher, broke into a panic. He shot a wide-eyed look at Professor McGonagall, recoiled on his chair and started fighting against her grip with all might. The deputy headmistress let go at an instant.

Sirius frowned at Snape, whose face had assumed the colour of milk and who was staring at McGonagall, hiding both hands under his armpits as he did.

Someone tapped Sirius's shoulder from behind. On turning, he looked into the grinning face of his friend James Potter, who was clad in his Quidditch robes and carrying a broomstick under one arm.

'Hey mate,' he said, returning the grin and cautiously moving away from the office as to not give his current activity away to the people inside. 'You been playing Quidditch?'

'That too,' replied James. 'And I got hold of another copy of _this_.'

He opened his bag that was hanging loosely from his side and pulled out a book Sirius had seen before.

'Oh great!' he said happily. 'I knew you could do it! Did you get Snape to hand it back?'

They were walking along the corridor towards the Gryffindor common room now. James shook his head.

'Are you kidding? He's as stubborn as a goat. And I don't wanna make a fuss about it. If he thinks it's important he will make enquiries. Then he'll find out I pinched it from McGonagall's table, and then he'll... I dunno... probably try to blackmail us or whatever. As Slytherins tend to. And the last thing I need is everyone to know that I borrowed a book on advanced animal transfiguration. I mean, most people won't care, but McGonagall isn't stupid. And if she finds out she'll know we've been trying it, too. And in that case, we're done for. Werewolf food, so to speak.'

'No,' said Sirius curtly. 'We're werewolf food if this doesn't work out. Then again, if Remus doesn't come back, we won't have to worry about it any longer.'

He was in a bad mood all of a sudden. James stared at him.

'What do you mean if he doesn't come back? Dad's on those idiots' track. And Kingsley. And Stur. They'll find them.'

'No, they won't,' said Sirius grumpily. 'And you know it, don't you? What has the wizarding army done to prevent them from being taken in the first place? Nothing. They can't do anything. They don't know... anything.'

'Oh, but you do,' snapped James indignantly.

'More than you think,' confirmed Sirius, regretting his words at an instant. If James started asking questions he would be in trouble, not being able to break his oath.

Quite naturally, this was the next thing James did.

They were fighting all the way up to their dormitory and long after that. When they were moving towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, however, a new option came into James's mind.

'Well, don't tell me what you know then,' he said, 'but if you're so convinced that you know more than our soldiers do, then we might as well go and look for Remus and the others ourselves.'

Sirius considered this for a moment. 'You mean like an undercover searching mission?' he mumbled.

James nodded.

Sirius considered some more and then grinned. 'I like it,' he said. I absolutely like it. It means we'll miss a bit of school, though. It'll take ages to search The Forest.'

'What forest?' asked James, the two of them settling down in the back row of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, not taking note of what was going on around them. 'Where d'you want to look?'

'You'll see,' said Sirius lightly. 'I said I can't tell you, and I won't.'

James scowled.

Then, suddenly, one of the girls approached them. Sirius had got to know her as extremely nosy and unbearable when it came to cleverness. He froze.

'Shut up,' he only barely managed to hiss before the girl was in earshot. 'Evans at twelve o'clock!'

But James hat long spotted her. Sirius got the distinct impression that his friend was straightening up instinctively in his seat. He had casually put one arm on his desk, and was ruffling the back of his head with the other as to make his hair stand in all directions.

'Show-off,' Sirius muttered.

'Stop showing off, Potter,' the girl said, pulling a face at James's clumsy attempts of making himself look better in her eyes. 'Please. Don't mind me. I was going to talk to Sirius here.'

James stuck out his tongue. 'As if,' he said. 'Why would I be minding a fat lady such as you are?' And he turned.

Sirius got the distinct impression that something was not quite right, but raised his eyebrows at Lily Evans, who held a piece of parchment directly in front of his nose. 'That yours?'

'Oh. OH!' Sirius stared at the parchment for a second, and then snatched it from the girl's hands. 'Ah, yes. Cheers, mate. That's it. That's... my... History homework.'

'Doesn't look like it,' said Lily Evans coldly.

'What would you know?' snapped Sirius. 'It's for... next week.'

'It doesn't have anything to do with the Dwarf Quest. And I bet you haven't even been looking things up for that, as I distinctly noticed you not taking down what homework he actually gave us last lesson.'

'I didn't? I mean - yeah, I did. I... copied it before when...' Sirius had to admit that he was slightly lost. James was not of much help either.

'We know everything about the Dwarf Quest,' he snapped.

The girl laughed. Simply.

'Yeah, said Sirius. 'Lots of things. Like... that dwarfs have been on this... quest, basically. It might be a bit hard for you, cause you're a girl, see...'

That did it.

'You're unbearable,' snapped Lily Evans, turning around. 'Just so you know, I've read that parchment, and I know what's on it, and I know what you're going to do. Just see what you'll do if I tell.'

And she stalked off.

James threw a questioning look at his friend. 'What we're... going to... do?'

'It's not important,' whispered Sirius, making sure the girl was out of earshot. 'I've been collecting... a few possible ideas of how to get hold of those... Knights.'

'You've actually made plans for rescuing Remus?' hissed James. 'And you didn't tell me?'

'Well,' replied Sirius, as quietly, 'someone's got to take action. I suggest we take Peter, create a water-tight alibi for us to leave the school without getting into trouble with the soldiers or any of the teachers - and then let's see what we can do.

James nodded.

'Fair enough,' he said. 'I'm in. You suggest we should ask anyone else to come? Just... in case they run to a teacher about certain discoveries?'

'No way!' snapped Sirius, knowing exactly what his friend was heading at. 'We will not take Evans!'

In the afternoon, the three friends and the rest of the third-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were filing through the entrance of the dungeon classroom for this year's first Potions lesson.

Their new teacher was of little height and as little patience. He was an elderly man, in his seventies perhaps, who had taken the job (as James happened to know) because he owed a favour to the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, and because he liked to keep an eye on Dumbledore - as Sirius happened to know.

This specific person was not someone to cross James had found out during their first year at Hogwarts, and it was clear that Professor Fumes remembered their short encounter as clearly as the boys did. He regarded especially Sirius and James with a look of disapproval on his face, telling them that this term would be a hard one.

As all teachers this year, Fumes started the lesson with taking the register.

Sirius had the distinct impression that the old wizard, whose beard was meticulously cut into the shape of a very small, very unpleasant moustache, was taking a mental note at his and James's name as though to remember them for future reference.

Upon finishing registration Professor Fumes stood up, walked in front of his desk, and eventually stood before them, both legs spread, his hands firmly on his hips.

'Get up!' he demanded.

The students did.

'You will form a straight line to fetch the ingredients from the shelf,' stated their teacher. 'You will then return to your places _quietly_ and start working for fifty-five minutes. Then we will test your results on those who have not finished their potion. Afterwards, you will compare your results and take notes. Any questions?'

Sirius raised his hand, grinning. Fumes ignored him.

'Any _serious_ questions?'

Sirius could not help it.

'As a matter of fact,' he said, 'this _is_ a Sirius question.'

No one laughed.

The Slytherins glared at Sirius, making very plain that they were not going to stab their new Head of House in the back. Sirius gave them an apologetic shrug.

With two steps, Fumes was standing in front of him. Sirius frowned. The Potions master gave him a ringing slap across the cheek and grabbed his collar firmly, to pull him as near to his face as possible before hissing, 'I noticed before that you are obviously used to flouting the school rules at will, being an insolent and disobedient brat as your father has informed me beforehand. Be _assured_ that this kind of behaviour will not be tolerated in _my_ class. This school may be run by an effete old man and an overworked witch, but this _class_ is run by me. Thus, any steps out of line - and I mean _any_,' he glared, 'will be a free ticket into the thrashing vault for you. _Is_ that clear, Mr. Black!'

Sirius stared at him.

'_IS_ that clear?'

The grip on his collar fastened.

Sirius gave in, his ear still ringing. 'Yes, sir,' he said dutifully, though not in his most humble voice. 'Perfectly clear.'

Fumes let go and marched back to his desk.

The other students, who had been staring in disbelief at the scene before them, were now hurrying to line up as Fumes had told them. Sirius, however, hesitated, and then raised his hand again.

'Excuse me, sir?'

It was probably wise to lay low for a while to see how many of his threats Fumes was actually ready to carry out. The Potions master raised a stern eyebrow at him.

'Mr. Black.'

'You have not actually told us which potion we are going to do,' said Sirius earnestly, careful not to let a grin appear at his face. Fumes frowned.

'Yes, I did, a minute ago. Had you been listening, you would be aware that we are going to brew a Shrinking Solution, but I understand that this is more than I can expect from a person who likes a pun on his own name.'

Sirius's gaze darkened.

'You haven't said anything about a Shrinking Solution so far!' he snapped, watching not without unease how Fumes approached him again, this time seriously angry.

'If you want to challenge me, boy,' hissed the Potions master, stopping in front of Sirius as he had done before, 'continue like this. I advise you, however, to shut your trap now, and do as you are told without disturbing my class any further. Otherwise, I shall be obliged to discipline you using more _impressionable_ measures.'

Sirius shut his mouth. As none of the other students seemed inclined to move or support him in this matter, he eventually just lined up with the others, now at least knowing what potion they were going to brew, and contented himself with shooting a death glare at the Potions master whenever he was not looking.

A short glance at James told him that they were thinking the same thing. With Fumes around, leaving the castle unnoticed would not be as easy as they had thought.


	7. Friendship

**

Friendship

**

In the Slytherin common room the only torch lit was flickering by now, threatening to die any minute. Beneath it, there was a small figure sitting in its feeble cone of light, pressing a dark, slim wand against an oversized Transfiguration textbook.

'_Reducto_,' he said forcefully, causing the book to explode with a loud banging noise.

Severus Snape jumped and recoiled.

'No!' he burst out, 'no, no, no!'

A hand appeared before his face and before Severus could help it, Skein had given him a ringing slap on both cheeks, glaring down at him from a posture not unlike his father's when he was coming to inspect Severus's homework.

Severus recoiled slightly, involuntarily.

'I didn't know you were back,' he whispered, holding his cheek with one hand while watching Skein up and down. 'Where have you been?'

'Oh, here and there,' was Skein's off-hand reply. 'Can't stay with someone like you all day long, can I?' He laughed. Severus felt his gaze darken.

'I've been trying to do the spell McGonagall showed me,' he explained. 'But it's not working very well.'

'That is because you're not working hard enough,' prompted Skein, settling down in an armchair at Severus's side. 'I mean, really, wasn't this the spell you should have learned weeks ago?'

'Months,' mumbled Severus. I am doing remedial Transfiguration lessons.'

'I know,' said Skein disapprovingly. 'Pathetic, really, that you should need them.'

'I know,' whispered Severus. 'There's no need to tell me again.'

'I am just stating facts,' remarked Skein. 'But do continue. You'll have to practise a lot to keep up with those classmates of yours.'

Severus hesitated, then nodded. He got up and took one of the vases from the mantelpiece, not without throwing uneasy side-glances at Skein. What was it about his friend that felt so strange? He did remind Severus of someone, but it seemed impossible to tell for sure.

Without concentration much on what he was doing Severus took the vase in one hand, threw a doubting look at it, tapped it with his wand lightly, and retried the spell.

The vase exploded.

Once again, Skein's hand was quicker than Severus could react. His cheek was burning as he was stumbling back from his friend, one hand flinging to his face, the other holding the remains of the broken vase. His wand fell onto the carpet with a hollow thud.

'Severus!'

He turned on his heels.

Through the door opening into the corridor that led towards the Slytherin dormitories the figure of Lucius Malfoy stepped into the semidarkness of the common room, holding onto the door frame, his face displaying confusion and, it seemed, mild anger about the nightly disturbance.

'What do you think you're doing?'

'Nothing,' said Severus quickly, picking up his wand from the floor. 'A bit of homework.'

'Did I just see you slapping yourself?' said Lucius, marvelling at something impossible to grasp. Severus frowned.

'Don't be ridiculous.'

'But you did,' insisted the Head Boy. 'I've seen you.'

'You've seen Skein,' snapped Severus indignantly. 'That is something entirely different!'

'Who?' said Lucius, a contemptuous sneer playing around his mouth. Severus gave him a death glare.

'You don't understand anything!' he said. 'That's just typical. I was just doing homework. And Skein.'

'Who is Skein?' insisted Lucius sternly. 'I haven't seen anyone in here apart from you, and I assure you that I have been watching you for some time.'

'Rubbish,' said Severus, looking around to see if Skein was perhaps still there, watching the scene. 'He was just here with me. He's gone now, but he was here. Why would I... be slapping myself?'

He was confused. Lucius gave him another sneer.

'Because you think you won't learn otherwise, I suppose. Which is most probably true. Still... it's quite alarming that you don't notice what you're doing.'

'I have _not_ been slapping myself!' insisted Severus, noticing his fists clenching tightly in his pockets. 'Stop being an idiot!'

'Careful!' hissed Lucius. 'Not a step too far, little Snape. I know what I've seen!'

'Apparently you don't!' hissed Severus. 'And I don't care what you think! McGonagall said I shouldn't!'

'You misunderstand our deputy headmistress then,' replied Lucius after a moment's consideration. 'I am sure she has no intention of having you question authorities. And I _am_ an authority,' he added dangerously, 'besides being your friend.'

Severus threw him a cautious look, knowing that people tended to get unpleasant about topics like this.

'You know, Severus,' said Lucius eventually, 'for some weird reason I have come to like you.'

He threw a cautious glance into all corners to make sure that no one was present, then spoke in a low, though very determined voice.

'I have trusted you,' he said. 'I have _en_trusted you with secrets I was sworn never to disclose. You have not disappointed me so far, and I advise you not to start now. If you want us to be friends, you will have to recognise that your place is beneath me.' He bend down, just an inch, and glared directly into Severus's eyes, who put all effort into returning his look without blinking.

'You think 'no talking back' refers to your father only, don't you?' whispered Lucius, an edge to his voice that Severus had never perceived in it before. 'You think you don't owe me the same respect?'

Severus felt a cold shiver run down his spine and drew his shoulders up to his ears. 'See here...' he began. 'He's my _father_, after all...'

'And that is a reason to stubbornly go against any authority as soon as he leaves the room?' hissed Lucius, his hand gradually moving towards Severus's neck.

'No, no, of course not...' said Severus quickly, taking two steps backwards, out of the reach of his friend's threatening grip. 'Please... I was confused. I... I'm just tired. Can't I just go to bed?'

Lucius hesitated, just for a moment, then straightened up.

'Very well,' he said coldly, motioning Severus in the direction of the dormitories. 'It is getting late. You ought to stop doing your homework at night. You won't catch any sleep.'

'I don't sleep much anyway,' whispered Severus. Lucius ignored him.

'And stop destroying school property,' he continued, pointing his wand at the pieces of vase on the floor. '_Reparo._'

'Sorry,' whispered Severus, now fully confused.

'Never mind,' replied Lucius in an off-hand voice. 'You remember what I told you a few days ago?'

Severus nodded.

'And you're still with us?'

'I'd like to come,' said Severus, taking all the courage he could muster. 'To a meeting, I mean.'

Lucius laughed. 'We don't take children,' he replied. 'This isn't some sort of game. But if you manage your OWLs without changing your opinion, I am sure I'll be able to put in a good word for you.'

Severus nodded. With considerably more on his head than just an hour ago, he vanished in the direction of the third-year dormitories.

* * *

The name Remus was traditional in his mother's family. It seemed odd to be named after hundreds of dead Cuncytaws, but Remus had come to realise that bearing a traditional wizarding name had some advantage when it came to being recognised as a Halfblood among his classmates. All too often, after all, his Pureblood name had prevented people from dropping remarks or harassing him because of his father. And since attacks of this kind against Muggle-born wizards and witches had increased over the past years Remus was quite thankful not to be one of those who could be identified as non-Purebloods from a ten-mile-distance.

He threw a scrutinising look at the small trapdoor at the ceiling through which the new day's first feeble sunbeams made their way into the vault, barely enough to give any sort of hope. A small sigh emerged Remus's mouth. Light, fresh air, freedom - it seemed ages since they had been locked in here. A fortnight precisely, Remus calculated. He tended to know what time of the month it was. The sunbeams flickered and he sighed again. At least it was not the light of the full moon - as yet.

Balbina had moved backwards a bit and was now leaning against the mossy dungeon wall, staring into nothingness, chewing one of her blonde pigtails pensively. Her hands were resting on her lap, bound with something Remus had identified as leather string just like his own. The girl's eyes were half closed and she had drawn both legs as firmly as possible against her body - because of the cold, Remus assumed.

Personally, he felt neither cold nor heat, except for the occasional draught that flowed through the vault whenever someone opened the heavy iron door through which they had entered these dwellings days, no - weeks ago. And then, of course, there was _the_ heat.

For the second time today Remus felt a surge of it rise inside his lungs and for the second time he gasped.

Balbina looked up.

'A-all right?' she muttered. Remus nodded, coughing.

'Thirsty,' he muttered back, cautious not to wake those who had decided to take an afternoon's nap. Most of them had lost count of days - but not Remus. He knew. The heat told him.

'And it's getting late.'

Balbina knew what he meant. She was the only one who did, apart from Sirius, James, and Peter, but none of them was here at the moment. None of them had been kidnapped.

'You o-ought to warn them,' whispered Balbina, taking her hair out of her mouth. 'This is t-too d-dangerous. F-for all of us.'

'I know it's dangerous,' whispered Remus back. 'And I know what I _ought_ to do. But it's not as easy as it sounds. They hate Muggleborns, don't they? What do you think they'll do with... with me?'

Balbina closed her eyes, just for a second.

'I see,' she muttered eventually, 'b-but c-couldn't you... what if you t-tell them some sort of s-story...?'

'Like what?' whispered Remus, as quietly as he could, in spite of a slight anger rising inside him. 'That I am sick and need an extra room? With double iron doors and no windows?'

'Shush,' hissed Balbina. Remus frowned. She was right. This was not the place, nor the time.

Then he realised that the girl's reason to demand caution was another. The iron door's lock made a small click, then another one, and eventually the room was full of people with hooded robes and masks again.

For a second, Remus thought his limbs had frozen. The appearance of so many of the Knights (and such they were, as he had known from the first moment they had appeared on the train) tended to have this effect on him, and this time they were more than ever. After a short while, one of the dark figures positioned himself in the middle of the room, glanced around, and then spoke in a dark, very familiar voice, sounding slightly contemptuous.

'I know that there is a werewolf among you. You have ten seconds to disclose your identity, otherwise I'll choose randomly among you and kill the person on spot.'

* * *

Sirius woke with a start.

There was light all around him, and voices. It seemed unlikely and quite embarrassing, but he realised that he had once again fallen asleep during a lesson.

James gave an angry snort when his friend pushed his side.

'What!'

'I've gotta know something,' whispered Sirius, cautious to keep his voice down. 'What time is it?'

'Ten minutes later than before,' said James grumpily. 'Stop asking. And get out some parchment.'

'What happened?' muttered Sirius. 'I fell asleep.'

'I noticed,' hissed James. 'This is getting stupid. You ought to stop reading till dawn, then you wouldn't be tired all day.'

'Well?' said Sirius impatiently, noticing that everyone else was writing.

'Binns is going to check on whether everyone has read the stupid chapter,' said James tiredly. 'We are to write down a couple of things. See there,' he pointed at the blackboard.

Sirius sighed. 'Damn,' he muttered, stretching his limbs. 'Can't remember what was in it.'

'Arthur,' mumbled James as quickly as he could, throwing quick glances at Binns who was hovering nearer by the minute. 'Knights of the Round Table,' remember?'

Sirius shook his head.

'Today's dwarves are the descendants of Gawain and Galahad,' whispered James as quickly as possible while starting to scribble on his way. 'That's why they keep digging. They've searched the whole of the surface for the Holy Grail, now they're going underground. That's also why they're so small. Cause of the tunnels. To do with evolution, not magic.'

'What rubbish,' mumbled Sirius, but he began writing like all the others. 'When it isn't magic - why learn about it?'

When the lesson was over (and with it several strenuous attempts on Sirius's side of adapting James's text without quoting) all three friends walked back to Gryffindor tower in a swift walk. Sirius was leading the way. He had just remembered something and needed to check if he was right.

Having reached the third-year dormitory James slumped on his bed while Sirius took out one of the many books from under Remus's bed and started reading. Peter gave him a mystified look.

'You missed your lecture a lot, didn't you?' he said.

Sirius shut him with a glance. Then, suddenly, he found what he was looking for. In one smooth movement he placed the book on his bed, took out his wand, outstretched his left hand, and said: _'Lunares,'_ in a clear and determined voice.

Peter jumped back as something like a white, gleaming, though oversized egg appeared hovering over his friend's hand.

'What is that?'

'The moon,' replied Sirius dryly. 'It's one of Remus's more frequent spells, though I've only ever once seen him perform it. But see here - my assumption was correct. There is terribly little time left until he's transforming again. I didn't even think of that. Well, I did, but it wasn't so close then. What if they locked all of them in the same room and he transforms? Worse - what if they find him out and kill him?'

'Gee,' said Peter, slightly taken aback, 'you need to sort out your priorities.'

'I could have told you,' said James suddenly, without getting up from his lying position on his bed. 'McGonagall's been worried about that for ages. You aren't the first to come up with this idea, you know.'

Sirius stared at his friend, not without surprise.

'How do you know what McGonagall's been thinking?'

'She's been discussing things with Fumes,' replied James loftily. 'Down at the Quidditch pitch. I overheard their conversation by sheer accident while getting ready for practice.'

'Of course,' said Sirius sourly. 'When was that? And what else did she say?'

'Yesterday,' replied James lazily. 'No big deal. They were discussing... things. I didn't want to tell you, because that would have meant admitting that you have been right all along.' He grinned, but only for a brief moment. 'They don't have a clue what they should do about the kidnap matter,' he continued. 'Not even the Aurors do. Not to mention that useless wizarding army.'

'Told ya,' remarked Sirius. 'So what did she say?'

'They're searching The Forest,' replied James. 'Obviously without success. Lots of soldiers and some Aurors. But I knew that, of course.'

'More,' said Sirius curtly. 'What else?'

'Listen,' snapped James, suddenly in a bad mood, 'I am not your personal spy. I can't remember. Nothing of importance. We can't do anything anyway, right?'

There was a short silence.

'Wrong,' said Sirius eventually, his fists clenching. 'We _don't_ do anything. That is the problem. I've been saying it for ages. We have to go and save him. It's our bloody duty as friends.'

Another silence descended. Then Peter cleared his throat.

'We won't be able to get out of the castle unnoticed, Sirius. We can't stay away from lessons for an unknown amount of time. Fumes is going to kill us. You have seen the man. Who knows what he's capable of.'

'Plus,' added James, 'we won't survive The Forest _or_ an encounter with those kidnapping bastards for a second. Will you _think_ before you make such suggestions, Sir Eye-Us?'

'I did think,' said Sirius determinedly. 'And I am sick and tired of you calling me that. I told you.'

'I think it's funny,' retorted James. 'And since you seem incapable of thinking of a proper nickname like Wormtail here...'

'DON'T call me that!'

'Right,' said James after a short moment of laughter and bantering at Peter's expense. 'So what do you suggest we should do?'


	8. First Steps

**

First Steps

**

The end of the week had come sooner than most people had expected.

When the sun set on Friday evening, Minerva McGonagall started her usual walk through the corridors of the upper half of the castle, gazing into every classroom and empty corner to make sure that none of the students intended to sneak out of the castle tonight. Once again, she cursed the headmaster for his all too permissive way of dealing with the curfew hours. He was capable, oh yes, but headmaster Dippet had had his way with students that had made Minerva feel more secure about their (and especially certain Gryffindors') safety.

With perhaps more intensity than necessary, Minerva regarded one of the portraits behind which, as she knew, a not so secret tunnel lead directly into the village of Hogsmeade. It had not been moved tonight, however, as she found out with a simple spell not unlike Priori Incantatem. She also found that the favourite hiding place of two of her worst trouble-makers (Mundungus Fletcher and Dedalus Diggle, namely) was deserted.

'For once,' she concluded, 'the two are concentrating on passing their final exams instead of being up to mischief twenty-four hours a day.'

Then again, she was well aware that the presence of Alexander Fumes had brought a very new quality inside the Hogwarts walls. Minerva was not sure whether she approved of the elderly wizard's rather traditional methods of education (especially since she had received word how he still used transfiguration as a means of punishment) but she could also not help thinking that teaching the students a certain cautiousness under the given circumstances was not the worst thing to do. So she had kept quiet and not taken action when the complaints about Fumes's teaching methods had started to pile up.

A cat crossed her way. Minerva smiled.

'Evening, Mrs. Norris,' she said quietly, instinctively letting herself drop on all fours, changing into her tabby cat form on her way down. 'You well?' she motioned.

'Lots of work,' replied the caretaker's feline friend with a small nod, gazing motionlessly into Minerva's eyes. 'Students on the run in the dungeons.'

Minerva frowned - inwardly. Cats did not usually pull human grimaces. Students? But she had not seen a single one of them so far, although she prided herself with being the first, usually, to catch anyone who was up to mischief.

Mrs. Norris stretched and blinked at Minerva, trying to rub her cheek against the witch's lanky cat's body. The deputy headmistress recoiled and quickly made her way down the corridor again.

'Not a chance,' she snapped, turning back into her usual self.

Mrs. Norris glared after her. She did not like being turned down.

Minerva, on the other hand, quickly made her way towards the Astronomy tower, finding it was a popular starting place for any student couples seeking a suitable place for one or the other romance. She snorted.

The door of the Astronomy tower was firmly locked when she arrived.

Her fist intention was to turn and continue her way down the corridor, but suddenly something struck her as very odd. Whenever Professor Sinistra secured her part of the castle, the deputy headmistress remembered, she tended to lock the upper two doors only and leave the downstairs one open in case one of the students intended to take a look at the various pictures of famous astronomers the overzealous Astronomy teacher had hung up along the handrail of the spiral staircase that led to the upper levels and her Astronomy classroom.

On closer investigation Minerva found that the door had been treated with a simple locking spell, apparently, too simple for any teacher to have applied it, and yet magical, so that the involvement of Argus Filch was out of the question.

In a swift movement Minerva took out her wand and pushed the door open without doing so much as putting her hand on the doorknob. Then, as fiercely, she marched in, looked around, and started a swift, decided walk along the circular walls, gazing out of the windows into the vast depth spreading in front of them.

The castle in itself was high enough, but from this place one had an additional view down the stony slopes that lead towards the giant black lake which the first-years traditionally crossed at the beginning of each year. The view was fantastic and Minerva could not help but stop for a second to gaze into the vastness of the Hogwarts grounds.

Then, right behind her, a door fell shut.

Minerva whirled around. Her wand was out before she knew it, and she pointed it at the door while breaking into a run after the person who apparently had just left the room she was standing in.

Halfway down the corridor, she caught the small figure of a student by his upper arm. A boy, she noticed, who had decided to run for it instead of continuing to hide. An unusual method, she concluded, pulling the boy into the light of the castle window. The sight made her frown.

'Mr. Snape,' she sighed, pressing her wand hand against her sleeves, just for a second. 'May I ask...'

'They locked me in!' blurted the Slytherin out, quicker than Minerva was used to from him. 'It wasn't my fault, Professor! I was going to go back to Slytherin, but I couldn't get out! I didn't know the spell and... and 'cause we're not allowed magic in the corridors...'

'Who locked you in?' said Minerva tiredly.

'Potter,' said Snape desperately. 'A-and Black, a-and Pettigrew...'

He looked thoroughly unhappy - seemed to just blurt things out without consideration. Minerva could feel a certain awareness inside him. The certainty that whatever he said, it would sound incredible to her. And, surprisingly, the deputy headmistress found that her first reaction was to scold the small boy for lying - without having enquired any further. She stopped herself just in time, considering that, for once, he might be telling the truth.

'Do you have any proof for what you're saying?' she enquired.

Snape considered for a second, then shook his head uneasily. 'But is WAS them. I wouldn't lock myself in, would I?' he whispered.

'I wouldn't be too sure of that,' said Minerva quietly, aware of a permanently weary tone in her voice. 'Proof, please, Mr. Snape, or, as I promised you, this time it is the thrashing vault for you.'

Snape's face assumed an expression of pure horror.

'Please,' he whispered after a moment's horrified silence, 'I... you can ask... I... you've _got_ to believe me... it's not my fault...'

'Then _stop_ getting into these situations, for _Merlin's_ sake!' hissed Minerva, suddenly very impatient and very weary of his continuous excuses. 'Do you take me for a fool, Mr. Snape? It is always Potter and his friends, always someone else you want to hold responsible for your actions! I have not forgotten what you did last year, boy! You are inconsiderate in your decisions, ruthless in the execution of revenge, which I find unworthy of a Hogwarts students, as I have told you, and you constantly blame others for the mistakes you make!'

There was a short silence. In the semidarkness Minerva could make out hardly more than the outlines of the black-haired Slytherin's face, but she was suddenly aware that he was crying.

With a sudden feeling of guilt the deputy headmistress bent down, just a bit, to look the boy into the eyes.

'Tell me the truth,' she whispered. 'No lying, do you understand me? If you give me a full account of the events as to how you got to be locked in, I shall reconsider my decision. Regardless of what you have done.'

Severus Snape looked up tremblingly, hesitated for a while, and then nodded.

'Well,' said Minerva, 'who locked you in then?'

There was a short silence. Then, apparently with all the strength he could muster, Severus Snape spoke, hiding his hands in his armpits as he did so often when being nervous.

'I... I followed Black and Potter up here to-tonight. After... dinner. Be-because I had a feeling that they would be sneaking out looking for Lupin. A-and I was right. O-only that they go-got the better of me a-and locked me in... in there,' he pointed at the entrance of the tower.

Minerva nodded, fighting, inwardly, to keep her composure. 'Where are they now?' she said quietly. Snape blinked.

'I... I'm not sure,' he whispered. 'This was hours ago. For all I know, they might have crossed The Forest by now.'

Minerva felt her insides squirm.

'You mean they left the castle?'

Snape nodded.

Minerva took a deep breath. Then, almost in one go, she got up, let go of Snape's arm, and put her wand back into its place under her robes.

'I shall investigate on the matter,' she said quickly, pushing Snape in the direction of the staircase leading downstairs and towards the dungeons. 'You, on the other hand, are going back to your dormitory.'

Snape shot her a frightened side glance.

'No b-beating?' he managed.

'Not if you have told me the truth,' replied Minerva quietly, suddenly finding herself regret having uttered such a drastic threat. 'I am aware that this is a difficult time for you, Mr. Snape. And I told you that you can talk to any teacher about anything that troubles you. But you will also have to learn to keep out of trouble like this, do you hear me? You cannot keep sneaking after other students when the person you should be minding first and foremost at the moment is you.'

Snape nodded mutely. Then, after a second's silence he whispered, 'Thank you, Professor,' in a tone that let the hair on Minerva's neck stand straight.

This, however, was not the time to worry about Severus Snape's personal development. There were students in danger.

'Not a problem,' she thus said quickly, putting one hand at his shoulder briefly, 'You ought to retire now.' And then left him to hurry towards the Gryffindor common room, knowing by instinct that he would do exactly as she had told him.

* * *

Bellatrix needed a moment before she realised what Rodolphus was playing at. Not wanting to interrupt or contradict him in front of all the students she held her breath, wondering what on earth he was planning to do if the werewolf did not disclose his identity.

Rodolphus had started marching up and down the vault and was gazing into people's fearsome faces, well aware that each of them thought with horror of the possibility to be the randomly chosen victim.

'No really,' Bellatrix thought, 'how is he going to get himself out of this one? There is no way a child would admit to being a werewolf in front of all these people. There is too much shame involved being a half-blood _and_ a half-breed.'

After a moment's silence even Rodolphus seemed to realise that his words would have to be translated into action soon. It was only then, it seemed, that he realised what he had actually said. Bellatrix sighed inwardly. Her chosen husband was as rash as brilliant-minded.

It had been an hour since the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, had given word that there was a young werewolf among the kidnapped students and that he would have to be separated from them as soon as possible to avoid a mass slaughter. Sixty darn minutes, and Rodolphus had not even stopped to contemplate what might be the quickest, most effective method to apply. He had just walked off, apparated, not given anyone any chance to even ask what he was going to do, and had walked straight into the small room full of people, demanding the werewolf to show itself in front of all its classmates and friends.

This had been bound to fail from the beginning, Bellatrix resolved.

She was gazing around at the group of Halfbloods, all of which were staring apprehensively at Rodolphus, and, in some cases, at each other, wondering if any of their classmates was attempting to move.

Rodolphus frowned.

'I am not going to wait much longer,' he growled.

Bellatrix shook her head. Kidnapping was one thing, murder quite another. 'You are never going to get out of Azkaban again if they catch you killing the hostages,' she thought, 'although, considering all odds, there isn't much of a chance that they are _going_ to catch you.' A feeble smile emerged her lips. 'Still...'

Rodolphus pulled one of the first-years up by his neck and held him into the air so that his feet were dangling a few inches above the ground. Several of the students screamed.

'Now, that's it,' said Bellatrix, taking a few harsh steps forward and, with a quick movement, wrestled the boy out of her partner's grip. 'You are going too far.'

Rodolphus gave her an incredulous look, then his eyes narrowed under his black mask, giving Bellatrix his usual, sinister glare which he tended to put up whenever someone had the boldness of standing up to him.

'Are you trying to tell me what I can and what I cannot do?' he hissed. 'Or do you have a better suggestion as to the solution to this matter? Perhaps you would like to wait for the full moon to sort things out for us?'

Bellatrix lost her patience.

'Idiot,' she hissed. 'You and your stupid rashness! Do you really want to kill? Personally, I don't think ridding the world of one Mudblood is worth rotting in Azkaban for the rest of your life.'

People had started muttering. Bellatrix heard her words repeated in countless children's mouths and stopped.

'Silence!' she snarled, much sharper than intended, observing that at once every child in the room shut their mouth and resumed staring again. Now, this was agreeable. She grinned under her mask.

'You will be questioned individually,' she said harshly. 'Under the influence of veritaserum. Though you might as well step forward now. If chance has it, you won't return to your former life anyway. Very probably you won't.'

She waited a second, more to perceive the reaction her words caused than to actually give the werewolf a chance to give itself away, then turned.

'Very well,' she said, shooting a meaningful glare in the direction of Rodolphus, then turned. 'We shall see.'

And they walked off. All of them, Bellatrix noted with some surprise, finding that Rodolphus was not making any attempts of interfering with her chosen course of action.

It did not take the small group of Knights long to walk through the corridor of the forgotten tenth century dungeon vault deep inside the hills of the island and climb out at the point that Bellatrix liked to refer to as soft spot because it provided a link into the meta-world of witches' and wizards' unplottable places, commonly known as The Forest, as well as bearing the entrance into the seemingly endless dungeon world of the old McGillivray castle.

Outside, Rodolphus pulled off his mask, took a few deep breaths of the chilly late-summer air before turning to Bellatrix with a look of pure venom. She had expected this.

'You!' he said, 'are undermining my credibility.'

'Would you have preferred to murder the brat?' retorted the black-haired witch. 'You can be so _thick_, Rodolphus! What would you have done with him? Perform the killing curse?'

'I have done the torturing one,' replied her partner darkly. 'And Imperio. What makes you think I'll back away when it comes to the last of the three?'

'Because you know Crouch,' said Bellatrix softly. 'And you know the current wizarding law. Unforgivables, they call them. But if it wasn't for people like Cornelius Fudge and Albus Dumbledore, the army would be running around using those spells like any of the others. But for killing someone you'll always have to justify yourself in court, no matter what spell you used. The killing curse is looked down upon - more than any of the others.'

'You didn't seem as reluctant when it came to blot out the headmaster only a few months ago,' retorted one of the other Knights, joining in the conversation while also getting rid of his mask and his hood, enjoying some of the fresh wind and singular sunbeams out here. Bellatrix side-glanced.

'You know, Ludovic,' she said, allowing a sardonic smile to play around her lips, 'that is an excellent question. Probably because the plan was also this dunce's idea in the first place, and I had a way in mind to hold him responsible for everything that happened should anyone ask.' She grinned, watching Rodolphus' expression turn into unconcealed anger. 'Especially the matter with young Sirius Black seemed extremely risky to me...'

'As if any of _your_ plans had had any effect more worthy of praise so far!' snapped the older Lestrange, his face assuming a healthy shade of red. 'You keep going on about how useless my ideas are, but may I remind you that it was _you_ who agreed to trust young Black with this matter and that it was _you_ who suggested we could accept Hogwarts students if they were old enough and seemed to show the right... attitude?'

'Well, it is perfectly okay for sixth-formers...'

'I am saying one word,' replied Rodolphus, talking himself into rage. 'Severus Snape. I know Malfoy trusts him, but he was essentially your idea. And he is but a _third_ year!'

'Calm down,' said Bellatrix sourly, now walking towards the cottage on top of one of the hills, which she and Rodolphus had chosen as a living place for the time being, at least until the political situation had eased a bit and you could know whom to trust within the Ministry again. 'I do not intend to let him into our ranks, if that is what you mean. He is a fool. If you'd attended last year's Christmas Dinner you'd know that he doesn't seem to develop much personality. But he is useful, Malfoy says. Extremely useful. No idea what makes him think that, but I trust a Malfoy's judgement. I really do.'

'Last thing I heard is that he tried out for the wizarding army,' remarked Rodolphus grumpily. Bellatrix laughed.

'In sixth year,' she replied, 'indeed. It was a rather laughable performance I am told, however. Guess he'll have to take the Ministry course after all.'

'Better for him,' nodded Rodolphus, slowly calming down. He was irascible, Bellatrix knew, but you could just as easily divert him from his anger by talking about topics he liked. And the Ministry was one of them.

They talked all the way up to the cottage. What had the headmaster said? It was another week until full moon? Perfect. It would not take half as long to get the truth out of the werewolf when he was all by himself and not surrounded by his petty friends. There were only so many hostages, after all. Rodolphus opened the door of their home and Bellatrix stepped in. The matter was worth putting at rest for now in any case.


	9. In The Forest

**

In The Forest

**

There was no time to lose. After checking on the Gryffindor third-year dormitory and finding it empty indeed, Minerva returned to her office, shoved a heap of essays aside (_their_ essays, she thought bitterly) and spread before herself on the desktop a large and empty piece of parchment.

'Forest,' she muttered, drawing a giant circle onto the parchment, 'Hogwarts.'

Another circle, inside the first one. Afterwards, the deputy headmistress stopped for a while and, considering all odds, eventually placed a few squares on the edges of the bigger circle.

'Godric's Hollow, Diagon Alley, King's Cross,' she muttered. 'Oh no, they did set up a barrier at that entrance only last year.'

Her quill went on scribbling for some time, while Minerva turned and started browsing through her papers. 'Distances,' she mumbled. 'McGillivray Castle? Ha! I wish.'

Her home, McGillivray Castle, was situated in the middle of The Forest. Her father, a historian, had chosen this specific place for a living because the whole building had to be able to travel through time without changing the place it was standing on and The Forest was the only place that had remained very much the same for thousands of years. Nowadays, it was the only place in the wizarding world, apart from Hogwarts, without a special safety barrier against random Muggle intrusion. Obviously, because neither of the two was a place any Muggle ever got to. Not usually, at least.

Then there were a few unregistered places in the North where Muggles sometimes accidentally entered The Forest and got eaten by all sorts of beasts (yes, Minerva thought angrily, The Forest _is_ dangerous, Mr. Potter) but as soon as one of these accidents occurred, the Ministry found a way to magically close the specific entrance and the problem was solved for another few decades.

'Barrier, barrier, barrier,' said Minerva, checking a few tables while her quill was drawing in all the barriers to the Muggle world. King's Cross station, The Leaky Cauldron, The Ministry building itself, of course, and one or two stationary army points like Camden, the home and working place of Lance Snape. Not to mention Hogsmeade, the perhaps least properly secured barrier in the whole of the wizarding world, Minerva thought grimly.

A knock on the door made her look up and let the quill flop onto the table unceremoniously. Some of the tension inside her changed into downright anger at realising that it might well be one of her own students seeking guidance in one or the other 'important' matter. With a sigh, she flicked her wand at the door, which opened instantly. Outside, only barely illuminated by the torches on the walls, his silvery beard glittering slightly in the moonlight that was meeting him from inside Minerva's office, stood the headmaster of Hogwarts, looking more grave than she had ever seen him.

'Albus,' she said, unable to conceal her relief, 'I thought one of the students...'

'Just myself, I'm afraid,' replied the headmaster. 'May I come in?'

'Of course,' said Minerva quickly, stepping aside and drawing a chair for Albus to sit on. The headmaster, however, remained standing. He gazed at her desktop and his face lit, only barely.

'You have heard about the latest demand then?' he said, his voice shaking slightly. Minerva frowned.

'Demand? Not that I know of.'

The headmaster remained silent. Then, to Minerva's utmost surprise and shock, he suddenly buried his face in one hand while seeking the back of the chair she had drawn to steady himself against an upcoming fit of tears.

There was a short silence. Eventually, Minerva gently put one hand on the headmaster's shoulder. He seemed older than usual. More feeble. Then again, people always did when they were at the end of their strength.

'What happened?' she whispered after a while.

It took some time before the headmaster was able to speak again. He had lowered onto the chair after all, taken out a handkerchief, and started wiping his half-moon spectacles while staring at the desktop in a lethargic, absent manner.

'I have made a terrible mistake,' he said hoarsely. 'Minerva, I have made yet another wrong decision.'

Minerva closed her eyes. 'What happened?' she said again, her voice as quiet and reassuring as possible in this situation.

'We discussed the problem of Remus Lupin among the kidnapped children,' Albus said quietly, 'do you recall that?'

'Of course,' replied Minerva, almost insulted. 'Three days until full-moon. Have you made contact yet?'

'I have,' whispered the headmaster. 'Some time ago. I decided to tell the Knights that there was a werewolf among the hostages, but not exactly who it was. I hoped to cause a panic among them and for a mistake on their side. I also hoped they would not go and ask the students directly, because it is a well-known fact that most werewolves don't realise what their monthly state actually means. It seems, however, that we are dealing with far more dangerous an enemy as even I expected.'

There was a short silence. Minerva shifted, impatiently. 'What does this mean?'

'I have just spoken to one of them,' replied the headmaster hoarsely. 'The one you think you recognised.'

Minerva nodded. 'Rudolphus. Or his father. But a Lestrange in any case. They are easily discernible.'

The headmaster nodded absently. With effort he raised from his seat, not at all assuming his usual, upright posture, but that of a very old, very tired man.

'It was a mistake,' he whispered, holding onto Minerva's upper arm as he spoke. 'A terrible mistake. They found the boy - and killed him on spot.'

Minerva felt her jaw drop. 'WHAT?'

The headmaster looked at her through his half-moon spectacles, his weary gaze displaying nothing of its usual cheerfulness. With effort, he spoke again.

'It is what Lestrange just informed me of.' Another tear found its way down the headmaster's cheek. His voice was shaking as he spoke. 'And he informed me that they discovered the werewolf's identity with ease and took the liberty of removing him from the surface of the earth.'

Minerva needed a moment to let this information sink.

'How do you know it is true?' she eventually whispered. 'How do you know it isn't a bluff?'

'He knew who it was,' replied Albus weakly. 'He... was kind enough to describe Mr. Lupin to me and what exactly they did to him.' He shook his head slightly while struggling to maintain composure. 'I sacrificed the boy,' he said, shaking all over. 'For the sake of the other hostages, and yet - we cannot be sure to get them back safely either.'

There was another short silence. Minerva watched the headmaster. Everything inside her was screaming. This evening was not at all turning out the way it had started. Also, she realised that the news of Potter and his friends leaving the castle at this specific time might be too much to break to the headmaster at this specific point. Thus, after a short moment's consideration she said quietly, 'If you want to entrust me with this, Albus, I would like to inform Lance about the matter. He will have to know what he is dealing with. Because I daresay he underestimates the Knights the same way we did.'

The headmaster nodded, simply.

'I shall be away for a few days then,' said Minerva quietly. 'Transfiguration lessons will have to be put off again for a little while.'

'As long as they find our students,' replied the headmaster quietly, 'this won't matter. Because I really am at the end of my tether.'

'I noticed,' said Minerva quietly. 'But I'll find them-... Lance, I mean. And we'll... see what can be done.'

'Very well,' replied Albus softly. 'Meanwhile, I shall try and keep our remaining students as safe as possible. No more risks. No more controlled self-control for them. I'll block all the tunnels into Hogsmeade so no one else escapes. Imagine Mr. Potter and his friends going off to look for their friends, for example.' He attempted a smile, but failed.

So did Minerva.

'Yes,' she said quietly after a moment's internal struggle, 'imagine.'

* * *

'I hate you, Black! The next time you come up with one of these crackpot ideas you might as well tell us beforehand how much risk is involved.'

'If you don't shut up, there will be even more risk involved, Potter!'

'You are such an...'

'Will you _shut_ up! Do you want them to find us?'

Sirius, James, and Peter were hiding behind a row of bushes, a little away from something that looked suspiciously like a campfire, with dozens of soldiers standing around it, seeming to have a good time out in The Forest instead of looking for kidnapped students, or even taking an interest in what was going on around them. James was glaring at them through one of the bushes, his hazel eyes narrowed, looking angrier than Peter had ever seen them.

'Just look at them,' he hissed. 'More like boy scouts having a good time out, aren't they?'

'You think they've lost their minds?' mumbled Peter. 'They're not at all behaving like soldiers.'

'Oh they are,' intervened Sirius. 'Believe me. I know my family.'

'That is your family out there?' marvelled James. 'How do you know?'

'The big one,' said Sirius. 'Don't you see him? That's my uncle Lance. And there is a few of my grandfather's cousins around, I think. Mostly Snapes, though. Rarely any Blacks.'

'Well, I do recognise the big one,' mumbled James. 'Though I think they look odd. All of them, don't you?'

'They must've changed the looks of the uniform again,' muttered Sirius, undecided. 'Or they're higher ranked than anyone I've ever met.'

'I can't see anything,' complained Peter. 'What are you two talking about?'

'Never you mind,' replied James, 'But you're right. They must have lost their mind.'

'I daresay,' a sharp voice behind them suddenly said while two heavy hands lowered on Sirius's and James's shoulder, 'that the only people with a lack of intelligence are you three. Hold it _right_ there, Potter, or I'll have to stun you!'

Peter suppressed a little scream and Sirius snarled at the man (not a soldier, all three of them noticed) while James tried to escape his grip - in vain.

'Now,' said the man softly, his piercing black eyes seeming to take in every inch of their faces and clothes, 'what would three young Gryffindors, such as yourselves, be doing in The Forest at a time like this?'

James stared up into the man's gaunt face, finding that his nastiness was accompanied by an incredibly overlarge hooked nose and a nasty curtain of greasy, black hair.

'Let go!' he snarled, trying to put together fractions of recognition his brain was bringing up. 'Who do you think you are?'

'It shall be sufficient for me to know who you are,' replied the man. 'Hold your tongue, Potter. Black, if you try that again it will shorten your life considerably.'

'How come you know us?' said Sirius defiantly. 'Who are you?'

'Stop asking questions,' said the man curtly. 'You will follow me to the camp.'

'No way!' said James before he could stop himself, but a single look into the man's eyes told him that they did not have a choice. Where did he know those eyes from?

'Are you a Snape?' he said after a short while, following a stream of thoughts that had randomly appeared inside his brain.

'Indeed,' said the man curtly, while guiding them towards the soldiers quite unperturbed, but then fell silent. Eventually they reached something like an army tent in between two trees, which had been put up so carefully that it was hardly visible against the green of its surroundings.

The Snape halted in front of the entrance and paused, just for a second. Then, as though deciding on which words to use, he scratched his chin.

'General,' he eventually said in an official-sounding voice, obviously speaking to a person inside the tent, 'if you would care to step out for a moment...'

With horror, Sirius watched the giant shape of his uncle Lance shove through the entrance of the tent, but at the same time realised that as everything around here, his uncle had changed and looked very different from usual. He behaved differently, too.

'What's up?'

The Snape grabbed James's collar and shoved him forward. 'So much for my 'vivid imagination',' he remarked. 'I _told_ you there were people around. Students, it seems.'

'I see,' said the general, now eyeing the three Gryffindors with interest. 'Who are you?'

'I can tell you that,' snapped the man. 'These are James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. Merlin knows where Lupin is, but that is Gryffindor friendship for you.'

'I wasn't asking you, was I?' remarked the general calmly, smiling down at the man for a reason that totally escaped James. Then he looked back at the boys, addressing Sirius as he posed his next question. 'Well?'

'As he said,' growled Sirius. 'We are looking for a friend of ours who is in mortal danger at the moment.' He took a second to shoot a glare at the dark-eyed man, then looked up into the general's face again. 'As you might know. Because you are supposed to look for him - and the others.'

'No,' said the general calmly, a small smile playing around his lips. 'I don't.'

The Snape, on the other hand, suddenly stared at the three boys with a new quality in his eyes. 'You are looking for Lupin?'

'Yes,' said Sirius grumpily. 'How come you know us?'

'Did you travel through time?' said the general, now exceedingly interested.

'Rubbish!' said the other man. 'We are in _their_ time. Isn't it obvious? Your grandfather really hasn't taught you anything, it seems.'

'Dad, I'm just asking!' snarled the general, leaving James at another loss. He was looking from the soldier to the smaller man and back, his mind racing. Then, very suddenly, and in combination with what the man had just said, realised what was going on. His eyes narrowed on spot and turned towards the black-eyed man who had brought them here, looking him up and down suspiciously.

'Severus Snape!' he spat.

The man's eyes narrowed on cue. 'Indeed!' he said again. 'Little, insolent brat. You ought to have learned how to speak with grown-ups by now. Who do you think you are?'

James side-glanced at the general, remembering what he had said and continued, marvelling, 'And you are... my uncle's grandson?'

To his enormous surprise the general gave him a broad grin.

'That's right,' he said cheerfully. 'And you must be the infamous father of...'

'Shut it, Licinius!' snarled Severus Snape's older self instantly. 'This time-travel nonsense has given us enough trouble already. I don't need you running around telling the future to those three. _Especially_ to those three.' He glared at James again.

'Man, someone is holding a grudge here,' Sirius suddenly said, grinning at the two men. Snape smacked him, quite unceremoniously.

'Dad!' said the general uncomfortably, then sat down on one of the folding chairs next to the fire, seeming a bit overtaxed with the situation. 'Merlin, what are we going to do with three time-travellers at once?'

'As I said,' said Snape sharply, now approaching his son while moving and speaking as though trying to shut the three Gryffindors out of the conversation, 'they are not actually time-travellers. But we need to let them proceed.'

The general looked up with some surprise.

'Why?'

Snape hesitated. Sirius could see that what he was about to say was going against a basic instinct. 'Trust me on this,' he eventually mumbled into his son's ear. 'I know what happened.'

For a short while the general did not move nor speak. Then he raised from his chair, looking at the three Gryffindors again, his face very earnest for once. 'Very well,' he decided. 'I trust you, of course. But they need a mind-wipe.'

Snape nodded. 'Definitely.' He gazed at James, his face full of contempt. 'But before that, we'll point them to the exit to Mull.'

* * *

**Author's Note:** Once again, I thank everyone who is still reading and reviewing. I know that lots of people don't read fanfiction so shortly before the publishing of one of the original books.  
Also, I know about and apologise for the massive amount of tiny little details I tend to put into this story. I know most of them seem meaningless, but I can promise you that most of them are not. The reason I am writing this note is that the bit about the grown Snape and his general son is just something I put in for the fun of it. For once, it does not have much to do with the original plot. I simply missed writing canon Snape. But there you go, this is where the concept of fanfiction becomes quite handy. :D  
risi: Sorry, I should have made the point about joining up clearer. They were talking about Lucius, not Severus. People do not do the basic training before the age of fifteen, usually. I need to edit that chapter some time soon. Once again, I am entirely grateful for your very precise questions. They are exceedingly helpful for me when it comes to "de-complicating" the story.  
PS: I know everyone is curious about Skein. It will take another while for Severus to discover who or what he is, though. He is not a ghost, I assure you, because ghosts, I think, can be seen by everyone at Hogwarts. If you are trying to find out who Skein is you need to take a close look at what he does for Severus. In what ways he serves or opposes him, and in what way his oppinion affects that of our favourite minute Potions Master. 


	10. McGillivrays and Snapes

**

McGillivrays andSnapes

**

It was six in the morning when the entrance of Colonel Lance Snape's provisional tent suddenly opened and an utterly furious deputy headmistress of Hogwarts entered his realm. She was sweating, out of breath, and Lance noticed that her broomstick was in a mess, which told him that she had been flying at top speed. Her hair was hanging loosely around her head. The usual bun had turned into a bunch of individual black skeins and her face was paler than usual - clearly not because of excitement, Lance concluded.

'Sit down,' he said after a moment's shock of seeing this particular woman inside his tent in the middle of the night. He had been planning this morning's searching strategy up to her arrival, but it did not escape his notice that he might have been sleeping or in underwear at her entrance as well.

'Lance,' said Minerva McGonagall breathlessly, not accepting the seat offered, 'we need to talk. This is getting too far. Has Albus informed you that he was trying to trick the Knights into surrender?'

'He did indeed,' replied Lance with some surprise. 'In fact, it was my idea to use the circumstances...'

'I should have known,' said the deputy headmistress sharply. 'Well, you'll be interested to hear then that the boy is dead. You sacrificed him!'

There was a short silence. Lance considered this new turn of events and then took a small note. His opposite frowned.

'Well?' she said. 'Don't you have anything to say?'

'We'll have to take these news into account,' replied Lance curtly. The deputy headmistress was visibly displeased.

'I shall tell you what you will do,' she said, as sharply as before. 'You will find those blasted Knights, wherever they might be hiding, and you'll put them in Azkaban's ground level for the rest of their lives! And _pray_ that I don't find them before you do. Because in that case I cannot guarantee for their safety. But so much you owe me for using Remus Lupin as a military _feint:_ find his murderers!'

She glared at him. Lance considered himself surprised.

'Minerva,' he said after a small while, watching her infuriation not without interest, 'I notice school life does not seem to provide enough challenge for you. This is a matter the army should deal with, not you or any other teacher, for that matter. I thank you for personally bringing the news of Lupin's death, but I believe you ought to go back to the castle and let us deal with this matter. I can assure you that everything is under perfect control.'

'You don't understand anything!' stormed Minerva, now seriously angry. 'As usual! And you won't even listen, as usual! This is so _typical_! I'll tell you why I have come. Because it is _my_ students out there! And because I care about them! And because I want those kidnappers caught and flayed alive, if possible. And, most importantly, because three of the remaining students at Hogwarts have left the castle to do some searching of their own. And you won't believe me, but I expect them to be more successful than all your soldiers have been so far.'

Lance felt his jaw drop. Literally.

'Students escaped _after_ the attack? How is that possible? I am _sure_ Dumbledore put up all safety measures available to protect the remaining children from further trouble?'

'Well,' said the deputy headmistress reluctantly, 'you know his system of controlled self-control...'

'You _cannot_ tell me he left the tunnels open!' stormed the colonel. 'Where is the sense in this kind of negligent behaviour? You cannot tell me he still has not learned that children _cannot_ control themselves. That they _have_ to be protected?'

'I don't know why he did it,' snapped Minerva impatiently. 'The tunnels are closed now, as is the entrance to The Forest. That is all I know. And don't you give me that tone, Lance Snape! I still trust Albus Dumbledore's decisions more than everyone else's, despite his recent mistake. And in the matter of education I _certainly_ take him to be more competent than a Snape, if you know what I mean!'

That hit home. Lance shot her a look of pure venom, finding, however, that her glare was as merciless.

'We have had this discussion,' he said icily after a little while. 'I have nothing more to add.'

'Fine,' snapped the deputy headmistress. 'Meaning you will finally start arranging matters for my students to be found? I know tracking them down will be almost impossible, but that is why I need your help. If they are really looking for the Knights, they will be in mortal danger if indeed they are successful. Now, don't look at me like that. I realise that you don't think they will be, but you don't know them as well as I do.'

'Why don't you ask the headmaster to assist you in this matter?' enquired the colonel coldly.

For a fraction of a second, he got the impression that the deputy headmistress was reddening. Then she spoke, her voice as normal and firm as ever.

'He doesn't know,' she said firmly. 'I did not want to tell him.'

Lance stared at her. 'What? Why not?'

'I... didn't think he could take it,' replied Minerva vaguely after a moment's consideration.

'Could not take it? What are you talking about? The headmaster of Hogwarts?'

'He is an old man,' retorted the deputy headmistress. 'Despite appearances.'

'You are insane!' Lance heard himself snarl, not sure if she did not have a point, given the headmaster's recent state of mind. 'What do you think you are doing? In times like this? This is just typical of a McGillivray. Always interfering with their own ideas. Never doing as they are told. Never ever fitting in a system. I'll tell you something: the last thing we need is everyone going their own way at a point like this. We are facing another _war_, Minerva. The headmaster _needs_ to know what is going on!'

'The headmaster needs to get over the shock of having killed one of his students!' snarled Minerva, now utterly indignant. 'Intentionally or not. His decision played a part in it. You might have got used to the idea of ending life by now, but Albus has never before killed a human being through his actions! Not even during the war - the first war, that is. Just because you authority-obsessed uniform fetishists don't have a problem with...'

'Now, this is getting irrelevant, Minerva McGillivray!'

'Oh, is it, Lance Brutus!'

It took a little while before things calmed down again.

Surprisingly, in the middle of all desperation Lance still found he enjoyed his occasional dispute with the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, even though she tended to get unfair right towards the middle.

When the insults on both sides ceased and they had calmed to an almost reasonable level again, Lance gave the black-haired witch a conciliatory nod, collected a few papers, and went outside.

'Very well,' he said, turning towards her again when she followed. 'Incidentally... which students are we looking for?' It took some effort to maintain a motionless face, but Minerva was quicker on the uptake than one tended to assume.

'Potter, Black, and Pettigrew,' she said curtly, and after a while added, 'Why do you want to know?'

'Well, it might have been anyone,' replied the colonel, realising too late that there might have been a less controversial reply.

'Your son is safe,' said the deputy headmistress softly with an annoyingly knowing smile on her face. 'He was the one giving me notice of their disappearance.'

Against his will, a jolt of pride ran through the colonel's body and he nodded, trying to withhold a smile. His son, of course.

'He does show an enormous degree of responsibility from time to time,' he eventually managed, finding that he sounded as indifferent as ever. Minerva McGonagall kept smiling and nodded.

'Yes,' she said quietly. 'He does.'

There was a short silence in which Lance tried frantically to concentrate on the matter at hand. Thinking fondly of his son was not something he was used to, and yet the blasted deputy headmistress kept raising hope in him that it might not be too late yet to get through to Severus. To become more than just a person to respect...

'Are you two getting along with each other?' Minerva said after a small break, pulling Lance back to reality.

'Naturally,' said the colonel quickly, frowning. 'Why do you ask?'

'I imagine it can be difficult at times,' said Minerva, sounding cautious. 'Did you two talk about what happened to Virbia and why?'

'Course,' mumbled Lance, finding that this was not a topic he liked to discuss.

'Well,' said Minerva impatiently, 'what did happen that night? He was not actually responsible for her death as you assumed, was he?'

'Na,' muttered the colonel, now entirely unsure what to say. 'Not the way I assumed, no. We're... on speaking terms again. If that's what you want to know.'

'Good,' said Minerva softly. 'That is very good, Lance. I don't know Severus very well, but I can imagine that he needs all the help he can get.'

Lance nodded merely.

'Anyway,' said Minerva firmly, 'we need to get going. Will you personally accompany me on my search, or do I have to put up with one of your minions?'

'_Soldiers!_' corrected the colonel automatically, before realising that a smile was playing around her lips. 'Witch,' he added, realising that she had been having him on. 'I am afraid it'll have to be one of the lads. I am fully involved in a spell check around the high-security sections in the North at the moment.'

Minerva nodded. 'Naturally,' she said. 'But please give me someone with brains.'

Lance felt his eyes narrow, just slightly. 'I'll give you Robertson,' he said. 'That should be sufficient for you.'

* * *

'Settle down! All of you! I don't want to have to explain it more than once!' 

Bellatrix was in an exceedingly bad mood. Rodolphus considered for a second whether to talk to her for a second, but then decided against it and settled down together with the others. There were too many recent blunders on his side for him to go against his partner's chosen plan now, and indeed he found that her ideas were quite valuable once you took the time to listen to them in detail. For now, he consented himself with remaining quiet and listening, just as the other six Knights in the room did.

'I announce,' said Bellatrix when everyone listened, 'that we have a werewolf!'

People remained dead silent. This statement in itself, Rodolphus found, held more foreboding of danger than opportunities. She would have to put it differently.

'After Dumbledore's somewhat ridiculous attempt to sabotage our plans,' went Bellatrix on, 'we found that we could use the information he gave us to our advantage. After questioning the hostages one by one, the person in question quickly admitted to his state. He was obviously afraid of hurting one of his little friends.'

She laughed. So did several of the others.

'So,' she continued, 'we have now locked him in for a little... final test. Obviously, we cannot know if this isn't one of Dumbledore's more thought-through plans. Full-moon is approaching. If the boy turns out to be an actual werewolf he will be the ultimate, secret weapon to use against the Ministry of Magic for making our plans for the future of our society work. We will _not_ tolerate any further disturbances if we indeed manage to get a man-eating beast under our control! Questions?'

'Yes,' said one of the younger Knights called Bagman. 'How does this work with the Ministry knowing about our 'secret weapon'? Won't they be prepared?'

'Oh, don't worry,' said Bellatrix curtly. 'Rodolphus did manage to convey quite convincingly to the headmaster that his precious werewolf is now roaming the happy hunting ground. You see, if everything works out as we hope, we will be able to stick exactly to our plan - and more than that...'

'Err...' said Rodolphus, unable to hold back, 'we don't actually have a plan, Bellatrix.'

There was a second's silence.

'What are you talking about?' snarled the black-haired witch. 'Of course we have a plan.'

'I seem to know that you are disinclined to murder the hostages,' remarked Rodolphus coldly. 'What then, may I ask you, do you intend to do with them?'

Another silence followed. Bellatrix was glaring at her partner with unconcealed hatred.

'I will kill them if I must,' she hissed. 'But all at once. I wouldn't have you kill one of them in front of the others with the danger of our plan failing, all of them returning and us having to return to our usual life among Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers only for them to tell on us afterwards. I have no intention to end up in Azkaban, even if you like to be careless in everything you do, Rodolphus! I know what I am doing!'

'Why then,' continued Rodolphus matter-of-factly, 'didn't you just leave the werewolf with the others and let him do the work for us?'

For the first time today, Bellatrix's handsome face changed into a sweet smile.

'First,' she said, 'because not all of them would have fitted into the high-security room where we put the boy after finding out what he was. You will understand that I don't want him in the vault with that somewhat _unsound_ door leading directly to Mull. And second,' she said with an even broader smile, 'because I would like to see how he copes with the situation at hand.'


	11. Legilimency Skills

**

Legilimency Skills

**

The next three days passed without great incident, unless you counted the returning of the third-years' Potions essays on Monday morning, three of which did effectively not reach their owners - just yet.

Severus had spent all week trying to imagine what McGonagall would do to Potter and his friends once she found them, but he suspected that, in reality, she would consider their 'intention' a good one, as usual, and let them off with a mere detention again.

Severus's own essay had earned him this term's second A and he had the distinct impression that grades, however justified they might seem to the individual, largely depended on who was correcting the essays and what their relation to one's parents was.

Lucius was in an exceptionally high-spirited mood these days, Severus found, although he had, as yet, not fulfilled his promise of taking Severus to one of the meetings with his friends outside Hogwarts.

'You have to understand,' he quietly told Severus on Tuesday at lunch. 'It is impossible to smuggle anyone into or out of Hogwarts at the moment. The tunnels are all shut, the entrance doors are guarded by members of the wizarding army, Dumbledore is doing regular inspections in every dormitory of every house, and he has told the Prefects and us to lay an extra eye on trouble-makers - which includes you, if I might point this out.'

'I am not a trouble-maker,' protested Severus while gluing his toast together with two layers of peanut butter. 'I only ever...'

'...blow things up,' sighed Lucius. 'Skive off, and you did leave the castle in your first year, remember? That is all going on your record. And the more you have on that record, the less people will trust you. Especially teachers, understood? You ought to start doing things deliberately, Severus. You are too trusting.'

Severus felt his gaze darken and turned towards his toast for a little while.

'I _am_ doing things deliberately,' he muttered, 'just not the way you want me to.'

'Oh do you?' said Lucius sharply. 'Then tell me, when have you last made a decision that was not related to your school work?'

Severus glared at him. 'What's it to you?'

'Just asking,' replied Lucius coolly. 'Proving a point.'

'Father says...' Severus began, but Lucius interrupted him rudely.

'I'm not interested in what _your father_ says, Severus! I want to know if you have an _own_ opinion about matters. An own free will. No, seriously. You are behaving like a child sometimes. Always going on about what 'your father' might say. Have you ever considered that some of his views might be wrong?'

Severus was puzzled.

'What do you mean?'

'Well,' said Lucius slowly, rolling his eyes to the clouded ceiling of the Great Hall, 'his blind loyalty to the Minister for Magic, for instance.'

'What are you saying?' replied Severus with effort. 'I don't understand...'

'That is might be _wrong_ to just support whoever is the biggest bully in the playground?' snapped Lucius. 'Merlin, you are slow! Don't you understand? Your father and the whole wizarding army are serving an illusion. They are following ideals that do no longer correspond with what is best for our...'

'My father isn't wrong,' said Severus firmly, suddenly feeling the warm breath of his best friend Skein in his neck. 'My father is never wrong.'

Lucius laughed and took a sip of pumpkin juice. 'Sweet,' he said. 'Like a child, as I said. Just like a child.'

'That... no!' Suddenly Severus was wide awake. There were many things he would allow Lucius to claim, but going against his father's view was something he would - _could_ not accept. 'You don't understand! It is not my view. It is a simple fact!'

'Severus,' said Lucius tiredly, 'everyone is wrong once in a while. Even your precious seven-feet genitor.'

'What are you saying?' hissed Severus. 'Don't you know what you're saying?'

'I know exactly what I am saying,' replied Lucius tiredly. 'Stop being childish, Severus, and consider this for a moment, will you? Just for a second. The colonel's blindness in matters of authority might cost more than just a few lives. They might _split_ the wizarding world!'

Severus stared at Lucius, dumbstruck, not sure why his opposite was talking nonsense all of a sudden. 'Father isn't wrong,' he repeated after some time with a voice smaller than he wanted it to be. 'And you ought to stop insulting the family.'

'You are hopeless,' spat Lucius. 'No, seriously, is that what worries you? The family? Then why don't you _stand up_ against the ridiculous decisions your father makes and give him an idea of what is right or wrong!'

'But,' said Severus emphatically, 'don't you understand that he is _never_ wrong? How could _I_ give him an idea of what is right or wrong? He is... he...' He trailed off for a moment, looking for words what was going on inside him. After a moment's struggle he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, which was pressing it reassuringly at first, then meaningfully.

'He is my father,' said Skein as though through a veil, glaring directly in Lucius's eyes. 'He deserves respect. I cannot and will not talk back whatever he says because _he is always right!_' Severus looked up, weakly. 'Understood?'

Lucius frowned at him. For some time he said nothing, then nodded.

'I see,' he said coldly. 'No, I don't, but I can see how your mind works in this matter.'

'And you can see how _Lucius's_ mind works,' Skein informed Severus in a voice, which Severus was sure the Head Boy could not hear this time. 'Remember? Our practice went well on Saturday. You will be able to break into his mind, if only you concentrate hard enough.'

'Isn't that dangerous?' Severus whispered, throwing fearful looks at the people around him.

Lucius gave him a tired look. 'What do you mean? Your attitude? I expect it is all for the best. Your father will want you to pay him some respect. And admittedly, I would not want to go against him in this matter - or any matter, in fact'

Severus was confused.

'Yes,' said Skein, regarding Lucius again, and then bend forward so that his face was right next to Severus's. 'Try it,' he whispered. 'It is only Lucius.'

There was some silence before Lucius continued to speak, but Severus was unable to listen to a single of his words. Under the table, beside his right leg, his wand was at the ready, tempting him to do the one thing - to try if he could do it in front of all those people and still remain unseen. Severus raised his wand slightly, under the table, pointed it vaguely in the direction of Lucius's chest and heaved a deep breath.

'_Legilimens,_' whispered Skein. And at the same time, images started floating into Severus's head, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Many impressions at the same time, visually as well as emotionally, were making his head buzz. Lucius in the library, studying way into the night for one or the other exam, Lucius trying asking Andromeda Black out for a date and being rejected for the umpteenth time, Lucius in a circle of figures wearing cloaks and white masks... As opposed to a cat's brain (Mrs. Norris had been an excellent object of observation - in the literal sense), Lucius's memories were extremely complex and hard to understand.

The moment he realised that he had seen those people - those masks - before, Severus felt himself being lifted from his seat by his collar - and the connection broke.

Lucius looked up with some surprise while Severus craned his head back to see who was holding him in this somewhat undignified position.

Professor Fumes was an imposing figure, especially if his red face was inches from your own, with him breathing heavily through his black-haired nostrils, trying to regain composure.

'Snape!' he bellowed. 'What is that in your hand?'

Severus recoiled. 'A-a-a... m-my wand, s-sir.'

It was remarkable. As soon as a grown-up entered the scene, Skein tended to disappear into nothingness without leaving a trace, although Severus seemed to remember that it was impossible to apparate or disapparate within Hogwarts walls. And all that was left in such cases, was Severus with all his fear of being caught breaking the rules.

And that he knew he was afraid of - justly afraid of, as his father tended to point out.

'May I ask for what reasons you have taken out your wand, hidden it under the table and muttered incantations in the middle of a meal!' snarled Fumes now. The Great Hall suddenly fell into a grave silence with everyone staring at the small boy in the hands of the unpopular Potions Master.

Severus was aware that everyone was staring at him and tried to gather his thoughts for a witty reply, but his voice failed him and only unintelligible stammering emerged his mouth once he tried to give a decent reply.

'Think you're funny, do you?' hissed Fumes, taking Severus's wand out of his hand and tapping his head with it indignantly. For a second Severus feared he was going to be transformed into something horrible, as Fumes tended to do with people who were late for class. Then, however, the Potions Master turned and addressed the Great Hall, 'I notice a considerable lack of discipline among you students. At times like this be told that it is not advisable to fool around or disregard rules that have been set up for your own safety!'

'Alexander,' came Dumbledore's calm voice suddenly from the direction of the staff table. Severus turned, as much as possible, and stared into the headmaster's impenetrable blue eyes. Fumes, too, turned his head, regarding his fellow teachers with visible displeasure.

'Just an example, headmaster,' he said curtly, obviously trying not to be the cause of an open dispute.

'Put him down,' said Dumbledore as calmly as before. 'I believe he has learned his lesson.'

There was a grave silence hanging over the Great Hall for the rest of the meal, after Fumes had quite unceremoniously pushed Severus down on his seat again, not without giving him a light smack on the head. Severus realised that he was sick of people pushing him around, and also that he was sick of Skein leaving the place of battle when things were getting difficult.

But Skein did not appear again, even when Severus walked all the way up to the owlery after lunch, brooding over the fact that Lucius's friends were, in fact, the people who had abducted half the school from the Hogwarts Express.

He wondered if he was surprised to find out that Lucius was engaged in activities that were taking place outside Hogwarts, and that he had friends who actually took action against the abysmal state the wizarding world was in, but found that he was not. Lucius had always been restless. And his father had often said that he might end up mixing with individuals who were not quite as loyal to the government as one might wish. Well, he had been right.

'Of course,' Severus thought grimly, 'because he always is. As I said. As I keep saying. And as you keep denying, Lucius.'

He knew what his duty was. Some time ago, when his mother had still been alive, his father had told him that everyone had to look out for 'rebels'. To prevent that they started taking over everywhere, destroying the piece within the wizarding world. In fact, Severus now realised, it was people like Lucius Malfoy, who were responsible for the division of the wizarding world. It was people like Lucius Malfoy who had the right ideas, but chose the wrong actions at the wrong time and thus formed an opposition to the generation of their parents, who, so much was clear, preferred talking things over than to actually put their intentions into action.

The door of the owlery fell shut with a bang and Severus started searching for one of the school owls. Suddenly, in one of the corners of the cross vault room, the figure of a gaunt man appeared. Severus knew him quite well, as they had exchanged one or the other friendly word over the years, ever since their first encounter at this very place, in the vaults of the owlery. Severus looked around and spotted the caretaker's cat Mrs. Norris, who was following her master in her usual fashion. Filch, on the other hand, looked tired and much less cheerful than he had when Severus had seen him last.

'Snape,' he said in a voice no more than a hiss, 'up here again, writing letters to your parents?'

'To my father,' replied Severus timidly. 'My mother died in summer.'

Filch seemed taken aback for a moment. 'Drat,' he eventually said. 'That's painful.'

Severus nodded, his eyes closed. The caretaker tended to have a very accurate choice of words.

'And you didn't get the year off?' the older man continued. 'What kind of world is this?'

Against his will, a smile appeared on Severus's face.

'Ah well,' he said vaguely, realising that he was actually joking around with a grown-up. 'I would have come anyway. Can't miss the occasional Quidditch match.'

They both hated the matches - and knew the other did. Filch grinned. A row of yellowish teeth appeared. 'I bet.'

'Do you?' enquired Severus, encouraged by the caretaker's positive reaction to his sarcasm. 'But not on Ravenclaw, I hope? They are getting the worst reviews of all these days.'

'Nah,' replied Filch in a matter-of-fact voice, 'the only team to go with is Gryffindor, isn't it? What with that superb seeker they got?'

Severus felt himself cringe for a moment, but quickly remembered that there was no possible way that Filch could like James Potter and his overconfident Gryffindor mates.

'Well, at the moment he is seeking his own death, it seems,' he thus remarked. 'Outside the castle. You must have noticed that has become quiet in the corridors?'

'Indeed I have,' growled the caretaker, who was still grinning. 'But I wish him the best of luck with this quest, of course.'

It took Severus a second to understand this one. With effort only, he managed to suppress a snort of laughter.

'So do I,' he blurted out, being more honest than sarcastic for once. 'Mr. Filch, do you think it likely that they will never return? None of them?'

'I don't know,' replied the caretaker, a tad more serious than before. 'But you do know that some things ought not to be said, don't you? Especially not before people like the hot-headed Head of Gryffindor?'

Severus nodded again.

'What did you write in your letter?' enquired the caretaker now.

Severus hesitated. 'I haven't actually written anything yet,' he mumbled. 'I never write before I'm up here. Can't concentrate in the Great Hall.'

'I see,' nodded Filch. 'Well, there's people down there, of course. You wouldn't necessarily want everyone to know what you're writing.'

'That too,' replied Severus quietly.

'What are you going to write then?' Filch went on asking. Severus hesitated. His anger at Lucius had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. And he did not feel like contacting his father anyway.

'Mr. Filch,' he said after a while pensively, 'is not telling the same as lying?'

'Of course not,' was the prompt reply. Severus felt that he was regarded with a look of seriousness and some confusion. 'Why?'

'Because I think I am not going to write after all,' mumbled Severus. 'For now. To see how things develop.'

Filch nodded. Severus knew that he did not understand what he was talking about, but appreciated that the older man knew exactly when to stop asking questions. He found that this was a quality he appreciated in the people he surrounded himself with.

Some time later, he returned to the Slytherin dormitory, having stopped thinking about Lucius or the Knights for now, deeply involved in the question of how much of an owl's guts you needed to complete the Shrieking Solution they were supposed to plan for their next Potions lesson.


	12. In The Vault

**

In The Vault

**

Out of the darkness that surrounded him, Remus was startled to hear a small voice when he raised his head, enquiring about his well-being.

'Fine, fine,' he muttered, not realising where he was, or who was speaking. 'Got a light headache. You got a wet towel or anything?'

'Just my hand, I'm afraid,' was the feeble reply, shortly before the sensation of a girl's hand met his forehead.

'That's nice,' Remus muttered. 'Keep it there.'

Almost an hour later, having dozed off again and again, Remus finally decided to sit up and give his surroundings some more attention.

'Where are we?' he asked the shape of a girl, who was sitting in the darkness of one of the corners, her knees drawn towards her body.

'In a separate cell,' said Balbina's voice, making Remus involuntarily sigh with relief. 'You admitted t-to b-being a werewolf, remember?'

Remus closed his eyes for a brief second.

'It was better this way,' he muttered. 'I would have killed everyone in that vault.'

'Yes,' said the girl's voice quietly. 'Well, a-as it seems, now you are just g-going to kill me.'

Remus stared.

'Isn't it obvious?' whispered Balbina sadly. 'They're not g-going t-to be back b-before tomorrow, are they? Look,' she pointed, 'they've left some food. You must b-be hungry. And they've p-put up surveillance sp-pells. If I'm lucky, I'll have various p-people watch me being t-torn to p-pieces.'

Remus continued staring. 'What do you mean several people... what are you talking about? Of course they'll be back. They can't just let me kill you!'

Balbina threw him a sad look. 'Maybe I shouldn't've made s-such a fuss 'bout you being held back,' she whispered. 'A-and maybe you shouldn't've t-told them we were friends either.'

'But they can't do that!' squealed Remus, suddenly full of terror. 'They can't make you stay with me. Not tonight!'

'Well,' said Balbina, as softly as before, 'I said I wanted to see you in that shape, didn't I? It was just a matter of time.'

'But,' said Remus, totally flabbergasted, 'you...'

'You are the biggest pile of dung I have met in my entire life, Potter,' said a dark voice from outside. 'And that is saying something with the house-elves mother keeps recruiting.'

'Sirius!' Suddenly, Remus was on his feet, stumbling blindly into the darkness towards the direction where the voice had come from. 'Sirius, we're here!'

With a mute thud, he consequently ran only seconds later against what had to be either the stone wall or the thickest door he had ever encountered. There was a short silence, then hushed whispering, while Remus was busy rubbing his bruised head. What a day.

'See,' said the voice of James, suddenly very close by, 'I told you there was nothing but rats down here.'

'I actually quite like them,' said another voice, which almost made Remus cry. 'They have such a way of surviving, you know. Quite impressive.'

'Peter,' the young werewolf whispered. 'James... Si-Sirius!' With all the strength he could muster, he scrambled back to his feet, pressing both hands against what he assumed to be the door of his and Balbina's cell. 'Where are you?'

'Remus!' James's voice was almost directly behind the door now. 'You there?'

'SHUSH!' made Sirius's voice. 'What if it's a trick?'

'It's not!' squealed Remus, almost crying with relief. 'It's not! It's me! Quick, open the door! I'm in here with Balbina! You need to let her out! What time is it? You need to let her out quickly and go away, all of you! It is full-moon tonight!'

He was actually crying now.

'Calm down, mate,' said Sirius's dark voice almost next to his ear. 'It's all right. We'll have you out of there in no time...'

'And don't let them catch you!' interrupted Remus. 'Don't let yourselves be seen!'

'Professor McGonagall would marry stinkin' Snape before anyone could see anything in here,' remarked Potter at the same time as a blinding light appeared from a slit just above Remus's head. It seemed as though Sirius had discovered the corridor's floodlight machinery.

'Put it out! Put it out!' hissed James, some horror in his voice. 'Do you know what is running around here at this time of the night?'

'I've never summoned as many as this,' was the off-hand reply. 'And I am certainly not going to release them again before you've had a go at that padlock. It looks easy to blow up, if you ask me.'

There was some bustling and steps.

Remus, who had taken a step backwards, was able to regard the door with a closer look now. It was indeed almost as thick as the wall, and there were locks in it, as well as, presumably, the additional padlock outside, which Sirius had been referring to.

'Not a chance,' said Balbina suddenly from her corner in the back. 'I saw them seal the door with spells. You'll just trigger an alarm. Don't even try.'

'Well, seeing as we have no idea what to do with you once we've got you out,' said James sarcastically, 'I wasn't going to follow this dunce's suggestion anyway. You got a better idea?'

'Why d-didn't you bring a grown-up?' said Balbina impatiently. 'That door wouldn't've been a problem for someone like P-Professor Flitwick... or P-Professor McGonagall.'

'Yeah,' mumbled James. 'She would've shouted at it until it opened on its own accord.'

Sirius snorted, but in a friendly way, Remus noticed.

'Maybe you could go and find the keys,' he said helpfully. 'Or go and get someone... get Professor Dumbledore.'

'You mad?' whispered Peter. 'We'll be expelled if we admit to being here.'

'You'll be expelled anyway,' said Remus coldly. 'You've been out of bounds for the umpteenth time. They haven't got a chance but to expel you. But you can save Balbina,' he added with a somewhat desperate tone in his voice. 'Please? You've come to save someone, haven't you?'

There was a short silence.

'We've got to, mate,' said Sirius, obviously reacting to a movement James had made.

'I think you should just have a go on that door,' said Peter fearfully. 'I doubt there's an alarm on it. Has anyone ever heard about alarm spells?'

James seemed to agree, as Sirius gave a compliant snort, then, with a flicker, extinguished the light he seemed to have been produced by summoning all the phosphorescing particles in the air and on the mossy walls of the dungeon vault into one, big sphere. Remus felt how the magic of the sphere had pulled him towards it only when it suddenly lost its appeal. It was also only now that he remembered what McGonagall had once said about the transformation being triggered by a single magical element each month. Usually the full-moon, but if there was no moon available, also the ghost hour at midnight. It was not midnight yet, but Remus felt the appeal of the magic that surrounded him, and he suddenly realised that if James, Sirius, and Peter blew up the cell door, there would be enough magic around to turn hundreds of werewolves into their monthly shape.

'DON'T...' he started to shout the moment the door exploded and a green light filled the entire room, making his stomach cramp and the rest of his insides turn with fear.

All he could hear afterwards was a low growl...

* * *

It took a few seconds before Sirius had recovered from the shock of the explosion. It had been louder than he had expected, and much stronger.

'Y'all okay?' whispered Peter, who had been thrown backwards against the dungeon wall as a consequence of the explosion. There was no reply for a second. Then, suddenly, Balbina screamed.

'What's going on?' shouted James, while Sirius was leaping to his feet, entering the cell through the cloud of dust, which was still hovering over the remains of the blown-up door. What he saw took his breath away for a moment, deep horror sinking in faster than anything he had ever experienced. Remus's friend and cousin Balbina Cuncytaw was lying on her back in one of the corners, while a fully grown werewolf was towering over her, giving a long-lasting snarl before suddenly and without warning letting his teeth sink into the fair-haired girl's flesh. Balbina howled.

'RUN!' Sirius shouted back at his two friends before knowing what he was doing. 'HE'S TRANSFORMED! RUN FOR YOU LIVES! I AM GETTING BALBINA!'

In a jolt of blind rashness, he took some debris from the floor and threw it at his transformed friend. 'OY,' he shouted again, whipping his wand out at the same time. 'OY, REMUS! SEE HERE! LOOK, LET'S PLAY CATCH!'

There was hardly any time to marvel at his friend's sudden size and strength. Remus was transforming into a fully grown werewolf every month, even though he was only going to be fourteen in March.

Remus blinked, turned, growled slightly, and then, with a sudden leap, was at Sirius's throat. Sirius groaned. He had not expected a reaction as quick as this, and against his intentions had no time to shout at Balbina, telling her to get herself out of the cell. Remus's snout was particularly close to his face now and it took Sirius some restraint to keep him away from his throat again and again. His arms were pressing his friend's throat through what had become a layer of thick fur by now, but it was no use. Remus was ten, perhaps twenty times stronger than any third-year student could have been.

With a last idea flickering in his brain, Sirius felt his strength vanishing. He tried to hold on to the idea, but it kept him sane for only a few more seconds. Then everything went dark.


	13. Consequences

**Consequences**

There was a bizarre ticking and some hustling from outside the room in which Sirius was lying, biding his time. Before opening his eyes (out of habit, perhaps, or just laziness) he tried to perceive his closest surroundings using his ears and skin only. He felt and enjoyed the ticking of what had to be a grandfather's clock and the soft pressure of the mattress below him. The whole of his back was numb, as were his upper arms and both feet. His neck, on the other hand, was wrapped into some sort of cushion, which put considerable pressure against a spot just below his carotid. This spot was itching and burning with increasing intensity now that his senses were slowly recovering and his breath flattened.

When he tried to open his eyes, Sirius realised that he was not the only person in the room. Several witches and wizards had gathered around his bed, some of them looking worried, others angry. He recognised his Transfiguration teacher only after two seconds of mistaking her emerald green robes for his new raincoat. There was a piece of cloth in the Professor's spidery hands, which was soaked with a blueish substance, and she was talking quietly to a person shielded from Sirius's view by her slender figure. Both her hands were clasping the cloth with her knuckles actually whitening, as Sirius's slowly recovering eyesight let him discover. Then, suddenly, he noticed James and Peter standing far behind their deputy headmistress. They exchanged glances when noticing that their friend had regained consciousness but hesitated to speak.

"Uh... oh... Professor Mc-"

"Silence, Potter," was the curt reply. The deputy headmistress turned towards the two boys, now presenting Sirius with an emerald green, slightly sweaty back. "I told you that I shall not hear another word from you or Mr. Pettigrew until the headmaster arrives, did I not?"

Sirius thought she sounded a bit angry.

"There will certainly," she went on, keeping her voice down with some effort, "be questions concerning yours, Mr. Black's, and Mr. Pettigrew's journey, which was more successful than we could have hoped for, admittedly, but..." she sighed, "_goodness!_ How _could_ you leave the castle at a time like this, putting yourself and your friends in danger, Mr. Potter? You should have known _better_ than to let me down in such an appalling manner!"

Slightly overtaxed by the situation and her emotional outbreak Professor McGonagall sat down on a chair beside Sirius's bed, looking him in the face for the first time. He flashed her a good-natured grin.

"Morning, Professor McG."

There was a short silence in which everyone in the room stared at Sirius, who, despite the ongoing numbness in his limbs, made an attempt of pulling himself into a sitting position. The deputy headmistress let out a small gasp not unlike a cat's sneeze.

"Mr. Black!"

Sirius glanced across the room. There were two more people in it who had positioned themselves close to a small number of shelves opposite the entrance door, which precisely at this moment opened and exposed the outlines of Professor Dumbledore's slender body. Sirius's gaze fixed on him at an instant. For a moment, he wondered if the other two (Professor Fumes and a young soldier whose face was covered under a bunch of straw blonde hair) had nothing better to do than wait and hear what was going to happen next. Sirius stopped and considered. What _had_ happened back in the kidnappers' vaults?

Dumbledore remained in the doorframe for a moment, glancing around at everyone, then turned to Sirius and took a few steps towards him.

"Young Mr. Black is up and well again, I notice," he said smilingly. Sirius could have sworn he detected a twinkle in the old man's blue eyes and went for a small, welcoming grin.

"Professor Dumbledore," he said reluctantly. "What is going on?"

"You fool!" Professor McGonagall spurted out, "You took on a fully grown werewolf all by yourself..."

"And survived, Minerva," interrupted the headmaster quietly, "I am sure the boy will be happy to explain exactly what happened."

"Where am I?" asked Sirius after a moment's silence that had provided some time for him to consider his next step. "Is this Hogwarts?"

"McGillivray Manor," replied the headmaster earnestly. "As you seemed badly hurt, Professor McGonagall suggested to take you to the closest possible destination with continuous access to St. Mungo's hospital. It seems your neck has suffered from the magical surge caused by the door's explosion. Mr. Lupin's claws and teeth, on the other hand, hardly seem to have any marks left. Can you imagine why that might be?"

Sirius remembered. The werewolf. The screams.

"Where is Balbina?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "Is she all right?"

"I am afraid Miss Cuncytaw is better than we all would have wished her to be," said Professor Dumbledore quietly. "She died as a result of the attack. Werewolves are quite precise in their- Mr. Black," he suddenly interrupted himself, sounding much graver than before, his eyes pointing at Sirius, who felt as though he was being x-rayed, "I would very much like to learn how you evaded being bitten, seeing as Mr. Lupin did not seem to have touched you at all, in spite of you spending a considerable amount of time in his presence..."

Sirius was not listening. Balbina dead? Their friend slaughtered by whatever it was that took hold of Remus once each month - just like that? He looked back into the headmaster's earnest eyes and images started appearing in his head. Memories, which he had not even known were there. The darkness, restrained screams, Balbina... then, the werewolf. He made a sudden movement, trying to fend off an imaginary attack - and cramped.

"No!" With some force he found himself thrust back into reality. "He killed her!"

"We know as much," said Dumbledore quietly, his eyes for once not resting on Sirius's face, but on the blanket before him. "But what happened, Mr. Black? How did you escape?"

Sirius' mind was suddenly teaming with another bunch of memories: harsher ones, consisting not only of colours and sounds but also of a strange smell and a sudden feeling that his feet were giving way under the weight of his body. There had been light everywhere - red light - and a werewolf at his throat...

"He did not attack me," Sirius said bluntly. "He is my friend."

"That is ridiculous!" prompted Professor McGonagall, losing impatience. "Werewolves lose their mind during transfiguration, they..."

"He did not attack him," he headmaster suddenly said to everyone's, but especially Sirius's great surprise. "You heard the boy. I thank you, Mr. Black. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?"

Sirius stared at him. Incredulous that he was getting away with such a lie. His forehead felt sweaty all of a sudden. There was more, he suddenly remembered, a tight feeling in his throat, for instance - and hair growing on every part of his prickling skin.

"Remus," he eventually said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "What about Remus?"

"Your friend is physically well," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "His parents are currently with him."

"He is alive?" Sirius asked breathlessly. The sight of his Transfiguration Professor conjured another memory - a less focussed one. James and Peter had not run. They had remained inside the vault, though at a slight distance, hurling random spells at the attacking werewolf. They had seen - they must have observed everything, including his own... had it been a transformation?

And then people had arrived. Soldiers, but also Professor McGonagall, whose first reaction had been to grab both, Peter's and James's collars, and pull them out of the hazard zone. Sirius shot her a thankful look.

"Thank you, Professor," he said. "For coming to our rescue."

The deputy headmistress seemed taken aback. "Well, you... will have to thank the wizarding army," she said brusquely after a while. "If it had not been for Colonel Lance Snape, we might not have found you at all... or the exit to Mull."

"The what?" Sirius threw a questioning look at the two teachers, then at his friends, who seemed to be bursting with the need to give him a proper explanation.

"The entrance to The Forest, which the Knights have been using to plan and execute their attacks," said the headmaster quietly. "You discovered it, apparently by random, and Robertson here was able to track you down up there. Thus, we now know where the Knights' basement has been - and where the other children were hidden all this time."

"The others," Sirius was fully alert again now. "Are they all right?"

"All but one survived the incident," said the headmaster quietly. "All but Balbina made it out of the vaults. Those responsible have been caught and are currently facing trial."

"Wow," said Sirius, and then nothing for some time. "Wow. But that means... that means we saved the day, doesn't it?"

At this, Professor McGonagall's square glasses fell off her nose and she started shaking.

"You will have other things to worry about soon than 'saving the day'," said a growling voice from next to the door. Fumes had decided to take part of the conversation. "Foolish boy. Success never justifies the breaking of rules. You will have to face the consequences of your actions, however lucky you might have been in the execution of your ridiculous..."

"That will be enough, Alexander," Dumbledore said rather sharply. "I am sure the Ministry will not insist on a hearing as far as these boys are concerned. Their cause concerns the activities of the Knights only marginally."

"I am not talking about the Ministry of Magic," Fumes replied. "But the boys need to be disciplined. Their education has completely run out of the rudder, if you'll excuse an old mariner's language. What are you planning to do about that?"

Dumbledore seemed reluctant, if just for a moment.

"The regulations will have to be observed, of course," he said as politely as possible, "Still, I daresay that recent events have been punishment enough..."

"The school rules demand a thrashing," said Fumes triumphantly, side-glancing at Sirius, who gave him no chance of catching him with a shocked or terrified expression. "No time for favouritism now, Dumbledore. You owe this to the girl's parents. The rules demand..."

"The rules will have to be changed," Dumbledore said suddenly. "I am not having the Ministry's meddlesome hand within Hogwarts walls any longer, Alexander. It seems quite obvious to me that the seventh article of our constitution is flouted if politicians keep interfering with our educational system. We shall devise a change of the school rules during the holidays, Alexander. We - that is, Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and myself - will sit together in summer and effect a few overall changes, starting with the abandonment of the old punishments. We shall also have to re-evaluate in how far the Minister for Magic needs to be informed of the exact proceedings of the final examinations. But," he cast a short glance at Sirius and his friends, "I suggest we better discuss this in private."

There was a short silence. Fumes seemed to weigh his chances.

"I take it," he said, "that these changes will nevertheless be effected before next year's September?"

Dumbledore sighed. For a moment, Sirius thought he was going to contradict, but the headmaster did nothing of that sort. He turned towards the door. "I am afraid so," he replied, not meeting anyone's gaze now. "This, for once, is a rule that ought to be observed. Out of respect for Bagnold's Educational Act of a few decades ago. Please join me in my office this evening, Alexander. You too, Minerva," he said after a moment's consideration. "And young Robertson. As for now, it might be a good idea to leave the boys for themselves. They will want to discuss matters in private."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "I take it young Black is excused for classes until Christmas?"

"Yes," said the headmaster pensively. "Would you mind contacting his parents and effecting his transfer back to their house as soon as his head has sufficiently healed?"

"Not at all," said the deputy headmistress quietly. Sirius could not help feeling he was treated like some kind of package being made ready for shipping.

"Am I to stay here then?" he asked. "What is this place?"

"Oh," said Professor McGonagall tersely, "it is my parents' house. You will be quite safe for the duration of your stay, unless you count the occasional Viking invasion."

Sirius stared, but decided not to ask.

James, he noted when the grown-ups had left a little while later and the three of them were given a precious hour of time for a chat, had some talent for telling stories in an interesting way.

It was true that he and Peter had been taken away from the place of interest as soon as McGonagall had arrived, and it was also true that apart from Balbina no one had taken any major harm from being kidnapped by a bunch of lunatics, but judging from their faces, Sirius had long concluded that this was not all that had come out of the last evening's proceedings.

"You should have seen yourself," narrated James, the words floating out of his mouth as though he had prepared to give a speech. "Leaping at Remus as though he didn't have any teeth at all. And then, more magic - we must have inflamed the whole room with it. Your body was shaking like mad and hair started sprouting from your neck and hands. Your robes... it was as though they were transforming into some kind of fur - including the scarf, mind you! Your neck and back had this weird yellow and red stripe..."

"You were glowing all over," Peter added. "And Remus suddenly calmed down. Instead of trying to bite you he was sniffing and... well, and James thinks he was also... you know..." He made a rude gesture.

"Did not!" James stormed.

"Did!"

"Did not! That was just... a joke."

There was a short silence. Sirius held his breath, but after five seconds broke into a helpless fit of laughter. "That's just gross!"

"You did look a bit like him," James said apologetically. "Almost like a wolf, just darker. It was scary. We thought you were transforming into one straight away cause he bit you or anything."

"He didn't," said Sirius quietly. "But... but I think I did my first... well... incomplete transformation."

There was another silence.

"Incredible," whispered Peter.

"Ingenious," grinned James, clapping his best friend on his back. "Well done, Padfoot. You are going to be a wolf, just like Remus. Who would have thought?"

They laughed quietly some more, then fell silent again.

"They found no more than five or six of the actual Knights strolling about," James eventually said, sounding a bit grumpy. "Obviously. That's what the spells were for. The whole army stormed into the vault before we knew and one of them - probably Robertson - triggered an alarm. The rest was a question of time. The soldiers got hold of a few on the beach, trying to leave the isle by boat." He laughed shortly. "The others had gone. Mull isn't a place where you can easily disapparate," he explained to a puzzled-looking Peter. "Weather conditions."

Sirius did not ask how James knew this.

"What is happening now?" he said instead. "Will there actually _be_ a thrashing?"

"You heard Fumes," replied James grumpily. "He has been looking for a reason to get back on us all year. I don't think he'll stop now that he's reached his goal. Granted - we did go a bit far this time."

"In the literal sense," Sirius grinned. "But we'll see. There is always Professor McGonagall..."

"Professor McGonagall cannot go against the school rules. I expected Dumbledore might, but he seems concerned about the general situation rather than about our specific case." James shook his head and shrugged. "I also cannot shake off the feeling that he thinks we deserve a punishment for what we did."

"But Remus lives!" Sirius blurted. "It's not fair - we made everything all right, well except for Balbina, o'course, but that wasn't our fault! She would have died anyway..."

At this point, Peter sniffed loudly and turned his head towards his overlarge tummy. "She'll never come back," he said sadly, blinking away what looked suspiciously like upcoming tears. "Who says it isn't our fault? Fumes says if we hadn't blasted that door..."

"Fumes also says that Gryffindors are worth nothing but their flesh and bones' value in Sickles," James snarled. "This man's opinion is worth a Snape's shit, Pete. He only ever talks a load of Slytherin rubbish. We ought to ignore him, really."

"But I am _afraid_ of the thrashing vault!" whined Peter. "However pathetic you might consider that, James! I don't fancy being beaten!"

"Ts." James rolled his eyes. "Coward."

Sirius gave him an incredulous look. "You're not a bit scared?" he asked his best friend while trying to change to a more comfortable position.

"Ts," said James again. "Of course not. Piece of cake."

Sirius gave him a doubtful look. He liked James's recklessness sometimes, but also knew that it often derived from a lack of awareness of what lay ahead.

"You... _do_ know what it's feels like, though?" he said. "I mean, you _have_ been beaten?"

James screwed up his face. "Course not," he said loftily. "MY parents love me."

There was a short and nasty silence.

"I see," said Sirius icily, looking James up and down with an expression of conscious dislike. "Thanks for that, _Potter_!"

James frowned. He pulled a grimace at first as though to convey his indignation, but then gave Sirius an incredulous look as the meaning of his friend's words suddenly began to dawn on him. "You?" he eventually managed - nothing more. Sirius shrugged.

"Sure," he said. "Loads. Like Pete here. Like everyone. You're lucky enough not to be growing up in a proper pureblood house, but..."

"And exactly _what_ is that supposed to mean!"

"Calm down," said Sirius loftily. "You know what I mean. Seriously, ts." He decided to change the subject for the sake of peace. "Get it?" he said, making both, Peter and James roll their eyes and glare at him with old, well-established impatience, "_Serious_ly."


	14. McGillivray Manor

**McGillivray Manor**

Vesta McGillivray tended to have a good cup of Earl Grey in the morning, usually at eight o'clock sharp. After that, she habitually proceeded to her office in order to get her day's work done before allowing herself to engage in leisure activities, such as the restoration of the East Wing's first floor corridor, as well as some of the rooms on the lower level. From upstairs, a biting stench of cleaning agents and purifiers crept into every corner of the downstairs premises, vaguely reminiscent of the smell of doxycide, which the elderly woman had had to endure all week at the Blacks' estate in London. Mrs. McGillivray considered for a while to move her visitor to one of the smaller rooms in the West Wing before beginning to work on the new article for her knitting club's monthly magazine, but decided against it after throwing a seemingly casual look into the boy's room and at his face. He was still lying in the same position as he had the previous evening when Minerva had returned to Hogwarts to supervise the last two days of exams at least, having flooed to and from Hogwarts six times a day throughout the previous days. Mrs. McGillivray was well aware that her daughter tended to do too many things at the same time and was thus glad to see that Minerva seemed to have decided that the NEWTs students at the very least needed a hundred percent of her presence and concentration.

This, of course, had left her mother with the ill-bred half of Perseus Blacks' offspring.

Mrs. McGillivray had been advised that the boy needed rest and that all she had to do was see to that he got three meals a day, but even this seemed much to ask of a distinguished lady such as herself, she found.

When she peered into the room, which the young Black currently occupied (frowningly, her glasses occupying the part of her nose that was furthest away from the eyes) the boy looked up, frowning back, but obviously trying to be more sociable than he had been the night before.

"You are awake," Mrs. McGillivray observed, scanning the boy's upper half, which was no longer covered by his blanket as he was trying to pull himself into a sitting position. "Good. I shall take my breakfast in a few minutes' time. Will you join me?"

"I can't walk," replied Sirius somewhat nonchalantly. "Professor McGonagall insisted that I am not to leave the bed at all."

"I am aware of that," remarked Mrs. McGillivray, somewhat displeased at the young man's tone. "And that is 'madam' to you, boy. We have been through this before, have we not?"

"Sorry, ma'am," said Sirius impatiently. "Professor McGonagall mentioned I might be allowed to summon my own food..."

"Certainly not," snapped Mrs. McGillivray, continuing to scrutinise the boy who seemed very much in a struggle whether or not to present his best side. Her daughter had the wildest of fantasies, really. Ever since she had started working under Albus Dumbledore her ideals of education had - well, slackened. "Boys your age rarely know what is good for them, especially in terms of food. I shall take care of your meals. Did my daughter state exactly how long you will be staying with us?"

"Only until I can walk again," said the young Black sourly. "At least, though, until tomorrow. My parents would not lik-... will not be _able_ to take me before the holidays start."

"Good," replied Mrs. McGillivray. "We shall hope for a prompt recovery then. MAWLY!"

The boy jumped.

"Our House-Elf," Mrs. McGillivray informed him. "The premises are so large I often forget that she will come without me straining my vital capac... ah, here we go."

With a small crack, a creature had disappeared beside Mrs. McGillivray's legs. Mawly the House-Elf was extremely short, of a greenish colour, and her head looked as though it had been crimped long before the few strands of white hair had grown all over her wrinkly face and cheeks. She looked extremely old, but not tired.

"Yes, mistress," she squeaked. "At your service, Lady Vesta."

"I shall have a proper breakfast today, Mawly," said Mrs. McGillivray without hesitation. "Beans, toast, some sausages... everything. Our guest is going to tell you what he will take," she continued, "but mind you - he is not going to get any sweets, understand?"

Mawly nodded eagerly. "Yes, mistress."

"Anything else... oh, yes. I shall continue refurbishing the corridor this afternoon. Will you tell my husband that he is to join me and that I expect him to wear a set of old robes from the current century. Also, if you please, we need to be present in the _real world_ when the boy's parents are coming to collect him, which will be some time tomorrow I expect."

At this, Sirius let out a small groan, but suppressed it instantly, as though not wishing for anyone to read an emotional declaration into this.

"You will have to call the Elf if you have any pressing needs," Mrs. McGillivray declared, her attention now directed at her young visitor again. "Other than that, I shall be in earshot most of the time today, I expect. Oh, and -" she bent forward slightly, as though suddenly fractionally embarrassed, "have you met Osk?"

The boy frowned. "Who?"

"Ah," said Mrs. McGillivray, sounding slightly relieved. "Osk the Ostentatious. He is a Viking from the... oh... 9th or 10th century, I believe, one of my husband's closest friends. He might appear at any point during your stay, and I must ask you to excuse and, if possible, ignore him. He will not speak a word of English anyway... contemporary English, that is. My husband and this man are very close." She became aware of the boy giving her incredulous looks. "Well, anyway," she said quickly, feeling her cheeks flush at the thought of the intrusive young man with his battle axe and his strong liking for the family's wine cellar, "nothing for you to worry about before you actually perceive his battle axe somewhere near."

The boy nodded slowly. "I... I see, ma'am."

He was careful now, careful and courteous, Mrs. McGillivray noted. Good. "I shall visit you again in the afternoon," she said briskly, returning to the dining-room after another brief nod at her guest.

It was not until much later that Sirius heard voices from the corridor. At first he thought the lady and her husband had finally started their refurbishing work, but then he realised, much to his horror, that the voices were unpleasantly familiar. Mawly, who had only just brought him some tea - a hot meal, this time, complete with soup and a small pudding, sat upright at hearing voices that were not her master's and mistress's. She waddled towards the door only to recount what Sirius had long before discovered.

"Sirius Black's parents, sir," she whispered excitedly after returning to his bedside. "Mawly better clean Sirius Black's sheets before anyone sees..."

"Oh, shove off," said Sirius grumpily, though in a carefully low voice. "If those are really my parents out there, the last thing they are going to worry about is what my bed looks like."

Mawly started to protest, but Sirius motioned her to shut her trap. The House-Elf had been fussing about him all afternoon. Although it had turned out to be a rather pleasant experience to be asked for his wishes more than twice ever thirty minutes, Sirius had quickly discovered that the true reason Mawly was keeping close to him was her desire of companionship. She had to be rather lonely in this old manor if no one but the old (and obviously demented) couple lived here. Sirius found it hard to imagine that Professor McGonagall had spent all her childhood roaming such vast premises. Then again, this might precisely be the reason why she had chosen Hogwarts as a new place of residence after leaving home.

Sirius did not often consider other people's pasts and motivations, but the old stones and archways that lead from one room into the other gave him something to think about other than what had happened the night they had rescued their friend from Mull.

James and Peter had not come to visit again after their conversation, and even Remus avoided leaving the castle now, presumably because exam week was approaching. It seemed a bit of luck that he did not have to sit any exams this year, but Sirius decided after two days in McGonagall's house with nothing to do, unable to move any of his limbs, that anything would have been better than to stay here and stare at the old building's stone ceiling and walls hour after hour.

And now his parents had come - earlier than anyone had expected and probably without invitation. Sirius pondered. How had they learned of his staying at McGillivray manor? Surely Professor McGonagall had not given away his whereabouts, considering their silent, mutual agreement that he would try and fit in (Gryffindor house that is - yes, the agreement was old) while she would consider and reconsider before sending his parents notice of his misdeeds during term time?

"I shall see him then," he heard his father's voice, and promptly the door of his little provisional ward was pushed open. "You!" He pointed at Sirius as though he was something he would like to squash between the tips of his fingers rather than look at. "Explain!"

Sirius did not hesitate. "I was injured in a fight and..."

"YOU!"

This time, the word, accompanied by the same gesture his father had used upon seeing him, came from the mouth of his mother. Towering over the room like a giraffe over a desert bush, his mother looked even less forgiving towards whatever her son had done now to bring shame on the name of Black than his father did. Sirius's gaze darkened.

"Yes, me!" he snapped indignantly, pulling himself into as much of a seating position as possible. "Mother, I am here by order of Professor McGonagall for my wounds to heal because I was injured in a fight - and no, it was not my fault! I have officially been exempted from the exams. All my teachers agreed that they had sufficient material for..."

"WHAT have you done?"

His mother's voice had turned icy. Not good, Sirius decided, realising that he had to play his cards exceptionally well. He also realised with horror, however, that relating the entire story to his parents would mean betraying his friend's lupine identity to them. His mother, he knew, had considered herself in a personal feud against werewolves ever since her brother had come rather close to being bitten, somewhere near the beginning of the 20th century. He hesitated, struggled, then shut his mouth and shook his head. His mother took two steps towards him, grabbed him, front first, and pulled him as close to her pointy face as the situation would allow it.

"WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE?"

Sirius winced. "I... I was on a rescue mission," he reluctantly disclosed. "One of my friends was... about to be killed."

"Who?" requested his father from somewhere behind his mother.

"Ba-Balbina Cuncytaw," Sirius panted, trying to squeeze some air through the tiny hole his nightshirt formed around his throat under his mother's neck. "A... a good friend of James and me... very renowned family."

"Yes," said his mother slowly, without releasing her grip. "I know them. Polish origin, is it?"

"I don't know," whispered Sirius. "Please, mother..."

"Did you succeed?" enquired his father's voice from far behind. His shoulders sagged.

"No, but..."

"Meaning the girl is now dead?" inquired his mother with an indecent increase of interest in her son's story. Sirius nodded, not wanting to think of what had happened at Mull. Not wanting to remember...

At last, the grip around his collar loosened to some extent. "Well, you know what that means, of course," said his mother sharply. "You are coming home with us today. I shall have a word with Dumbledore, but before that, mark my words..."

"The boy will stay until his doctor has given leave for him to be transported," said a stern voice from the door. Everyone present turned their heads. Sirius craned his neck and could only just stop himself from letting out a yelp of relief and delight. Professor McGonagall had returned the exact moment he needed her most.

"What on earth is going on here?" enquired the deputy headmistress indignantly, marching into the room like a general on the battlefield. She positioned herself at the end of Sirius's bed so that she was now facing Mr. And Mrs. Black, as well as her student and the House-Elf, who was still sitting loyally at Sirius's bedside next to the room's only window. "Gladia, Perseus, if you don't mind me asking, what are you two doing here?"

"I was going to speak to you and your mother about the dinner, quite naturally," Sirius's mother replied. "Christmas is approaching. There is much to be done... and what," she continued, throwing a dangerous look at her son, who shrunk a few inches in his seat against his will, "should I find but my good-for-nothing son, who ought to be sitting an Astronomy exam at this very moment."

"Mother, I explained to you, didn't I, that..."

"He is excused from all examinations due to his near lethal wounds," said Professor McGonagall sharply, putting a slight emphasis on the last three words. "He has taken part in an extremely dangerous excursion, regarding which I sent you a short note of information last term. You _might_ have ignored it, as usual, of course."

Her voice now had assumed a slightly accusing tone now and Sirius stared at the deputy headmistress, not sure if he was going to believe what he had just heard. Professor McGonagall was the only person in the entire wizarding world, whom he had ever known to lie his mother in the face. And to protect Ihim/I! His head swirled.

"He did not bring shame on the family name for once then?" Sirius's father enquired maintaining the same calm voice he had had from the beginning of the conversation.

"On the contrary," Professor McGonagall replied heatedly. "You should be proud of your son. His achievements in the majority of subjects are above average, and..."

"We appreciate your appraisal," said Sirius's mother curtly, "but you will understand that the time we can spare for this matter is limited. We are planning to take Sirius home tonight..."

"As I said, I am afraid I cannot allow it," said the deputy headmistress tartly. "He will have to stay here until his wounds have sufficiently healed."

There was a short argument. Sirius had felt, from the beginning, that he could count on Professor McGonagall presenting her usual unrelenting self, and sure enough after a moment's heated debate his parents retreated into the living room, where, according to Mawly the House-Elf, Lady McGillivray was taking her tea.

When the door shut behind the two visitors, Professor McGonagall turned to Sirius, her face stern, but with the merest trace of a smile.

"Your mother will cool down in due time," she said. "Blacks always do, and Snapes aren't much different, I imagine. You will be able to go home safely once her mind is sufficiently occupied with this year's Christmas Dinner. It is even possible that their coming today was not the worst that could have happened. It required a downright lie, of course..." she hesitated while Sirius was willing his face to display thankfulness and admiration at the same time, "but I do believe it was worth it," the deputy headmistress concluded, gazing down at Sirius through her square glasses. "Your safety is sometimes a bit of a... special case, of course."

Sirius nodded gravely. "Mother's a huge..."

"I am almost certain I would prefer not to hear the end of that sentence," said Professor McGonagall quickly, as usual sensing what was about to come. "But I would like you to know that your friends have press-ganged me into allowing another visit tomorrow night after the exams. I suggest we let the healers have another look at your legs and arms in the morning, and if possible try to have you home by the weekend. How on earth did you manage to get into that sitting position?"

Sirius grinned. "Will-power," he said, and then: "Professor, what about the Knights? Any news?"

"No," said Professor McGonagall quietly. "But you know that these things take time, don't you? The trials will be held during the holidays, I expect. Will you be following them?"

"I most certainly will," said Sirius grimly. "They made my best friend a murderer."

"Oh yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But before I forget - I strongly advise you not to mention the matter to Mr. Lupin again. He is taken care of by specialists on his... condition, but it is certainly going to take time before he understands that it was not _him_ who killed one of his best friends."

Sirius nodded. "Thank you, Professor," he said quietly. "For everything."

McGonagall nodded and left.

Sirius, on the other hand, put his head back on his pillow, took a few deep breaths, and then said, more to himself than to the lingering House-Elf, who was eagerly trying to catch every word: "...but it was a darn great adventure."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay. Not entirely my fault for a change. ;) Just a note to say that the wolf/dog confusion is entirely the Marauders', not mine. Guess the transformation wasn't too perfect after all - as yet. gA. C. Mathur - exactly the right way of thinking. Schizophrenia is one element of Skein's persona, magic, of course,another. Hedoes play an important part in Severus'sefforts to perform Legilimency, as youprobably noticed.I am trying to play around with what is sane and what isn't. We'll see if it works out. ;) Also, no worries about the older Snape part. I'm aware that therewas too much unexplained information inthat sceneand Ionly put it in toserve an insider joke rather than adding to the story. Apologies for that. 


	15. Lance and Severus

**Lance and Severus**

Upon returning to 13 Myrddin Street, Camden, Colonel Lance Snape discovered that his house was no longer unoccupied. A small gadget on his desktop, designed to protect the stationary army point and its inhabitants, displayed a small, green light in the general area of the upstairs bedroom. Severus had returned.

Feeling a little uncomfortable about his son having walked from King's Cross station all by himself yet again, as well as being glad not to have to take this evening's dinner all alone after all, the colonel stored a number of files he had been presented with by his wife's Healer earlier this day away in the highest shelf behind his desk. Not looking at them for another while would make the pain go away, so much was certain. It had been an uncomfortable visit once again, but at last some facts concerning Virbia Snape's death had become clearer to both men.

Their discussion had begun with Lance informing Healer McGonagall that his wife had stopped taking the mind-addling medicine her earlier healer had prescribed and that this fact had had no perceivable impact on her well-being other than she had been more awake, generally more alert, and most often in a considerably better mood than before. The Healer, in turn, had informed Lance that the symptoms would not immediately return, but that the confusion resulting from a lack of medicine might have been a reason why Virbia had confused one potion with the other. Lance had pointed out that the other potion (the deadly one) could not possibly have been in his wife's reach, meaning someone must have helped her obtain it from the locked potions cupboard in the office.

"Is there any particular person you suspect?" the healer had enquired, sounding concerned. Nothing but silence had followed. Because what would be the answer to this? Yes? 13 Myrddin Street, Camden, probably the safest place in the Southern part of the wizarding world, not counting the Ministry itself or St. Mungo's had probably been invaded by a total stranger who had happened to know his way around and randomly intended to kill the only person present? Or rather yes, because a thirteen year old boy could be easily misled and in this case not possibly estimate the outcome of his actions? How about yes, because somewhere inside, Lance was not entirely sure after all that it had not been himself who had forgotten to apply the locking spell on the potions cupboard the night before…?

"Severus!" the soldier called upon entering the hallway and a small, black-eyed face appeared on top of the staircase, between the door leading to Severus's room and its frame.

"Yessir!"

"Come down," said Lance quietly. "I have something to discuss with you."

Severus came. They settled down in the kitchen and a few flicks of the older wizard's wand provided them with hot tea and some sandwiches.

"So," the soldier said. "Had a good term, did you?"

"Yes, ve-very much so," said Severus hesitantly. "There weren't many lessons, though. Too many things happened."

"Because of the kidnapping, I presume," Lance mumbled, more to himself than anything. "Professor McGonagall would have been away most of the time."

"Yes," replied Severus quickly, glad that his father knew of the matter. "I didn't have all my remedials."

"Ah yes, your remedial Transfiguration lessons," the soldier remembered, feeling his eyebrows knitting together. "I shouldn't think you need them anyway."

Severus's face lit up.

"But better safe than sorry," his father decided, remembering the last time he had overestimated his son's mental capacity. "We'll see how the end-of-year exams go."

His son's face assumed a sullen expression again. Lance frowned. What was it that made it so hard to talk sensibly to the boy, he wondered. Severus was aware that he needed help with his work. He knew perfectly well that he was several months behind with it – had said so himself upon his father's investigation concerning last year's final marks. And yet, the boy never seemed to appreciate how fortunate he was to have so many helpful people around him. Remedial lessons with the deputy headmistress were nothing just any student could pride themselves to receive.

"You don't seem to enjoy these lessons," he observed. Severus shrugged.

"Professor McGonagall can be so strange sometimes. She keeps asking these questions…"

"That," the soldier cut in, "is the whole idea of a lesson. Really, Severus," he added, suddenly tired of having to once again defend what was obviously good for the boy's development, "you ought to stop complaining so much. There are so many opportunities you are provided with and yet, you seem to take not a single one of them."

"I do," came his son's hurried reply. "Honestly. It's just that she… she's so…"

"Careful now," said the soldier warningly. "I am aware that you are not incredibly fond of _my old friend_, but that does not excuse you from being polite and helpful. You are the one who benefits from these lessons, after all."

Severus scowled. "Not only me," he mumbled. His father put down his cup slowly, pointedly, his eyes narrowing just enough to make his opposite feel uncomfortable in his seat. It was a method, which always worked with recruits. And Severus was only two or three years away from attending basic training, of course.

The boy crouched. "S'ry," he managed, shrinking back. Lance nodded, not disapprovingly, observing that the boy at least knew his place. Severus had almost disappeared under the surface of the table now and upon realising this took considerable effort to come back into sight.

"I have been meaning to discuss something with you," the soldier said eventually, trying to rearrange his thoughts to focus on more important matters than his son's general behaviour. "Concerning your mother."

Severus's head flicked up as though someone had pulled it back. His eyes assumed a cautious, but nevertheless curious expression. He was absorbing every word now. "Mother?"

"Yes, Severus. Concerning the cause of her –"

The sudden silence took not only the boy by surprise. Lance Snape found himself trying to talk about matters that had rested for so long that he had nearly managed to forget all about them – and he failed. What a pathetic, pitiable situation. Caelian Lance Snape, an officer of the British Wizarding Army, and his voice failed him at the mere thought of his wife's soft, dark eyes – a single movement of her hands enough to make him change his mind about almost anything…

"I talked to one of her healers today," he heard himself say, slower than usual, and with a strange voice.

Severus's hands were clinging to his teacup now, his knuckles almost as white as his face. "Healers," he repeated dully, as though repeating the words would make them come to live. "Mother's healers?"

"For Merlin's sake," Lance said impatiently, "don't play stupid, Severus! You know that your mother went to several of them about her illness. Healer Jones, Healer Thomas, Healer Prince, as well as Healer McGonagall, the person I just went to see."

This seemed to wake Severus from his daze. "Eileen Prince?"

Lance's jaw dropped. For a second or two it seemed as though panic was about to numb is mind and cause a sharp, scathing reply, but his concentration and innate Snape stubbornness proved stronger. The boy could have heard the name anywhere.

"No," he therefore said, taking good care of giving his voice the air of finality. "Healer Septimus Prince, a renowned expert in the field of advanced healing potions. Not the best choice your mother has ever made in terms of Healers, but at least not a witch."

There was more silence. Lance could feel that Severus did not believe him. The boy's gaze went right through the layers of protection his father had built up around the two of them so carefully, trying to discover the deepest and most secret part of his father's mind – literally.

The soldier's reaction was an automatic one. His hand shot forward, grabbing his son's throat while giving him a sharp slap with the other. Both teapots fell, rolled off the table and burst in two.

Legilimency! How DARE you!

Then, it was all over. Lance stared at himself, his son still in his grip, the kitchen table a wet mess. The Daily Prophet was spread all over it and soaked with tea now. Severus's face was white and confused, and Colonel Lance Snape suddenly realised that a thirteen-year-old boy could not possibly have mastered one of the most obscure and complicated of all magical branches – Legilimency – especially not one who was this careless with his school work. He felt his hands open as though in a trance and Severus retreated, covering his cheek with a trembling elbow.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry…!"

Two deep breaths, eyes closed, mind free of all emotions. Lance knew how to deal with automatisms. He had fought for both, obtaining and getting rid of them as long as he could think. But he had never, as long as he could remember, lost his composure in a situation that involved Severus. He had chastised him, oh yes, but never in an uncontrolled manner. Never out of anger or rage. Lance threw a cautious look at the child before him The boy was no longer entirely in his control. He was growing up and, if he did not take good care now, Lance knew, could turn into an enemy as easily as a respectable member of the wizarding community. Snapes were always complicated, but this particular Snape was a special case. He was not, after all, from the same line as Lance himself… He required careful handling.

"It's all right, boy," he said calmly, motioning his son to resume his place, which Severus did without hesitation. "There is nothing for you to be sorry for. I misjudged the situation. Please excuse my harshness."

A confused pair of glittering, black eyes told him that this statement was at least as rare in occurrence as his preceding behaviour had been.

"Soldiers have automatisms," he thus explained, hoping he sounded sufficiently matter-of-fact. "They are sometimes triggered in situations where they are inappropriate. You will learn that soon enough once you have completed your first two years of training."

"I… yes, sir," was Severus's feeble reply. He did not seem to have recovered from the shock of living through an attack and an apology by his own father within the same five minutes. "I'm sorry for…"

"No!" cut the soldier in, rather less patiently than intended. " _I_ am sorry."

There was more silence. Perhaps he should have let him speak. At least the boy was trying to be polite and willing to take the blame, but no… the decisions how to deal with Severus had been made years ago and could not be changed now.

"I believe we should continue this conversation – some other time," Lance eventually said, suddenly feeling no longer up to the task of talking about his wife's death, particularly, as the situation would have required another apology on his part. Severus nodded.

"Can… can I ask you something?" he said tentatively. Lance raised his eyebrows.

"Yes," he said, feeling that he could not very well deny this request after what had happened.

Severus took a deep breath. "I… it's not… I found this person in a book the other day… in the library," he stammered, obviously hesitant to pose the actual question, "and I was wondering… I mean… he seems connected somehow to m- to us… I can't place him…"

"What do you want to ask?" interrupted the soldier impatiently. Severus's shoulders tightened, almost touching his ears now.

"I… I was wondering… do you know anyone called… Tobias Snape?"

"That is NONE of your business!"

For the second time today, Lance felt as though he would much rather turn and leave the room than face his son's inquisitive mind. Just a moment too late, he realised that any other reply would have worked better towards his goal of inhibiting Severus's curiosity. That the denial of any straightforward response was usually the very reason for underage boys to keep digging until they found a satisfactory solution.

"There are much more pressing matters to discuss at the moment," he thus said, trying to think quickly and very clearly, "You have not handed me this term's grade sheet, I believe."

His son's face lost all colour at once. "I…"

"Don't tell me it is as abysmal as the last," his father said sharply, feeling much more at home with this kind of conversation. "Go on. I'll be most interested."

"Y-yessir."

When Severus had vanished to dig out the grade sheet from inside the vastness of his trunk, the colonel leaned back, took another deep breath and, with a flick of his wand, wiped away all the remaining tea on the floor and on the table. He then sat down and wrecked his brain about the matter at hand and what to do about it. A memory wipe? The most gentle and certainly the easiest solution, but the boy was bound to have revised hard for his end-of-year exams during the past days so there was a good chance that heaps of valuable knowledge would be erased alongside the memory of Eileen Prince, if Severus was obliviated now. No, there had to be another solution. Lance thumped the table impatiently and then sighed.

Let it be for now, something inside his brain told him. Why would the boy dig any further in this matter? He had no reason whatsoever to believe that Eileen Prince was related to him, nor, Lance knew, was there much material about her in the Hogwarts library after the unfortunate turn her life had taken. No, Severus's limited capacity was barely sufficient to keep up with his school work (not counting the subject of Potions, in which he excelled, for some reason). And keeping him occupied with school work was something Lance knew efficiently how to do.


	16. Christmas Dinner at McGillivray Manor

**Christmas Dinner at McGillivray Manor**

It was a perfectly normal, rather windy Saturday morning in late December. Only a soft breeze had remained of the night's stormy weather, a handful of the year's first proper snow had created a thin, white layer on top of everything in sight, and McGillivray Manor was under attack.

This, in itself, was not at all unusual. The building had been created, centuries ago, by one of Minerva's ancestors. More precisely: by her father.

Hamish McGillivray was a historian in the literal sense. After the legalisation of longe-range time-turners some one-hundred and fifty years ago, he had decided that historical events could only ever be of importance if you actually witnessed them. Thus, he had worked hard towards one of the most famous reputations you could achieve in the wizarding world: that of a practical historian. What exactly this entailed, only the most learned of wizards and witches could explain. The more straightforward ones, however, had eventually started going out there, doing the actual work. In Hamish's case, this mostly entailed the investigation of ancient people and their ways of life, but also to travel back in time, collect empirical data, and return to write another important work about the true events involving the capture and destruction of Dumbarton Castle, which was situated close to the mouth of the river Clyde – at close distance to where the manor's outer rims met the real world.

Minerva had always rather liked the special features that were built in every wall of the place she called home. Due to practical reasons, and because of a minor time-accident involving the destruction of his time-turner, her father had at one point in ancient past decided to build himself a home where he would live with his wife and children, and which had no fixed place in the space-time continuum. He had set up every stone of the castle in a specific way so that what was to become McGillivray manor could be manoeuvred freely through every past and possible future the world theoretically held – if only one knew how to do it. His wife, not having been born at the point of construction, had had no idea where stepping out of the entrance doors in the mornings could lead her, but had quickly discovered that it was usually safer to check for possible Viking attacks first, and then whether the daily newspaper had been able to arrive.

This was another matter, of course. OWLs could not enter the house, visitors had to be very lucky to find it at its place the exact moment they happened to pay a call, and, most annoyingly, they had to be sure it was the _right _manor they entered when returning from necessary trips, such as work or, simply, shopping tours. This, of course, had been going on for centuries. If you did not happen to know where you were going within the realm of McGillivray manor, you had a fair chance of getting lost in the space-time continuum.

This morning's visitors were Anglo-Saxons from some point during the first Viking Age, Minerva gathered, judging from their general way of dressing and behaving, and, more importantly, from the way they spoke.

"West Saxon," Minerva sighed. "What on earth are we doing this far south?"

And she slammed the door. Behind her, her mother had rung a small bell at spotting the approaching enemies, and sure enough only seconds later the House-Elf Mawly appeared at her side, looking rather anxious.

"Lady Vesta called?"

"Go and tell your master that he has visitors," said Minerva's mother, looking disgruntled. "You may also tell him that we are expecting a number of guests this afternoon – from the twentieth century, if you please. I expect him to arrange matters for us to be home from at least six – no, better make it half past five."

"Yes, mistress," said Mawly obligingly. "Is master going to be present during the Christmas Dinner?"

"Yes, he is," said Mrs. McGillivray indignantly. "Minerva, will you see to that he is wearing his best contemporary robes this evening?"

"I am sure he will be perfectly capable of getting dressed on his own accord," replied her daughter flatly. "Mother, you are making a fuss. I am sure we will be back in no time."

"Your confidence in your father is awe-inspiring," remarked her mother, vanishing into the living-room to finish her tea. Minerva decided to make sure that there were no further disturbances.

The Blacks arrived at seven o'clock sharp. There were fewer of them than Mrs. Black had announced. Minerva suspected that this was due to last-minute uncertainties. This year's dinner was, in some respects, a bit like running the gauntlet for those who were not accustomed to the presence of 'the other side'. In the Blacks' case, people who surrounded themselves with Muggles, in Minerva's family's case, the self-declaimed aristocrats of the older pureblood lines. The only person to look forward to this evening, she knew, was her old friend Lance Snape, whose presence on the British Isles had become rare these days, what with the African war being taken to new extremes.

There were five or six of each line who had promised to make an appearance. Not many, Minerva considered, given that there had been eighteen and more guests at the Blacks' place in previous years. But those few would have to do. There were matters that required people to sit down and dine together, as Lance tended to put it.

The Snapes arrived in company of Lance's cousin Richard Lestrange, who, Minerva knew, had only grudgingly agreed to come along, refusing to make his wife join what he had rather bluntly called a 'farce of a Christmas Dinner'. Both soldiers did, for once, not look as though they had only just crawled out of the African desert, and Lance's son Severus looked more groomed than Minerva had ever seen him during term time. He seemed insecure about the completely new surroundings but somehow instantly at ease with every piece of furniture – or other bit belonging to the house, as though he had been here before. Minerva knew that kind of behaviour in people. Most of them were her father's friends and had either inhabited the manor centuries ago or were about to do so within the next millennium. When Severus looked up, however, a pair of indifferent, black eyes met her own, making a shiver run down Minerva's spine. Severus's gaze moved about the living-room, his gaze void of all the liveliness she had perceived in them during his days at Hogwarts. It was almost as though he had been feeding on something he was now bereft of. As though school gave him something he now lacked.

"Minerva."

Lance's broad hand entered her visual field and she shook it.

"I was not sure whether you would have the time…" she began, then stopped. "What is it?"

The Snape raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry?"

"Your face," said Minerva quietly, as to shut other people out of the conversation. "You look… angry."

"Oh, don't worry," replied the Snape, side-glancing at his son. "The matter has been… settled."

Severus crouched. His gaze was fixed on the floor, as though he was forcing himself not to look up. Minerva gave him a worried look, but then decided that this had to be private.

"I am very glad you two came," she said warmly. "Mr. Snape, you will be pleased to hear that you are not the only underage wizard joining us."

"I know," replied the boy darkly, not looking at all as though this was likely to lighten his mood. "I mean – yes, Professor," he then corrected himself quickly, following another of his father's side-glances. Minerva frowned.

"Of course," she said hesitantly, "I am sure you will have heard… why don't you two join me in the drawing room?" A small gleam of pride lit her face, just for a second. "Mother and I put some refurbishing work into the old table and chairs and we stripped the walls. I didn't know there were so many different spells for changing a room's general decoration."

Lance smiled. This was rare. Minerva had used to count the moments when the older Snape's lips moved up into a genuine expression of human delight but had given up when after a period of six or seven months she had still not encountered a handful of such occasions. "It does look impressive," the soldier stated as they entered the area in question. I cannot help but wonder, however, who chose the tartan curtains…?"

Minerva blushed. "Mother insisted," she said. "You know her. But I do believe your sister was impressed. And Mandy found the colour spectacular."

"Because it is! Don't you like tartan, Lance? A bit of Scottishness seems to suit the place just fine."

It was this particular moment that the person in question chose to join the conversation. She did have a knack for turning up at spectacular points, Minerva thought, but smiled nevertheless. Lance seemed less pleased.

"Mandragora Pomona Sprout," he said. "I have been looking forward to a reunion."

"Oh, no need to lie to me," said the Herbology witch, giving her opposite a broad grin. (The situation acquired some comical potential due to the colonel being about twice the size of the podgy Herbology witch.) "You have been dreading this moment. Don't think I didn't notice that you have been avoiding me lately. I do insist on the song you promised, _including_ an audience this time."

"And you will get it," prompted the soldier. "A Snape never goes back on his word. You ought to know as much."

"I do," replied the witch, still grinning. "That's why I made you promise."

"You made him drunk," said Minerva sourly. "That is something else. Especially with a Snape."

She then noticed that her father had finally made his way downstairs from the attic. It had taken her three visits altogether before the historian had finally been able to remember which attire was suitable for a festive occasion during the century into which he belonged. He was wearing a set of traditional Scottish dress robes now, which compromised neatly between traditional wizarding clothes and the long-established and very stubborn Scottish fashion that required the front of the robes opening up to reveal the person's kilt of choice. Minerva side-glanced at Lance, who seemed thunderstruck for a moment before he suddenly remembered where he was.

"Your father," he mumbled as Hamish was approaching.

"So it seems," replied Minerva. She was smiling again. Lance-Hamish was always a safe bet.

"Young Snape," said the historian as he arrived, shaking Lance's hand perhaps a little more vigorously than necessary. "Merlin, yeh've grown."

The Snape nodded politely. "I am sure."

"Father, for Merlin's sake," said Minerva impatiently. "Will you stop greeting him like that every time you see him? I thought you said recent past wasn't your area of expertise any longer?"

Her father smiled mischievously, but said nothing.

"Sir," said Lance suddenly, his voice quite unexpectedly low. "Please allow me to introduce my son Severus." And he shoved Severus in the foreground, who seemed less pleased about the new turn of events.

"Oh, a ken Severus well enough," said Minerva's father, smiling at the small boy who gazed up at him in surprise.

"You do?"

"Och, aye," replied the historian, bending down a little to look the boy in the eye. "But a cannae tell ye why, sorry tae say."

"I'd be most interested," Lance prompted. Minerva gave him a brief smile.

"So would I," she nodded. "But we know the rules. Father, will you stop being a historian for a while and greet the other guests while I show Lance and his son to their seats?"

"Other guests?" the old man repeated, looking around in surprise.

"The Blacks have arrived a while ago," Minerva said sourly. "Perhaps you would care to join mother in her attempts to get around lying at Mrs. Black about her dress."

Severus produced a small giggle, which was prompted by a smack on the back of his head by his father. Minerva gave her old friend a reproving frown.

"Don't!" she said sharply. "The dress is indeed worth a laugh."


	17. Christmas Dinner at McG Manor, Part II

**Author's Note:** Apologies to you all, but I have made yet another mistake in the order of chapters. The one I uploaded last time isn't due until I've uploaded all the Christmas Dinner ones and one other. Please be patient with me. I have so little time for writing, editing and uploading at the moment that I make these mistakes quite frequently. Real life is demanding too much attention at the moment.

What I did was: I changed the previous chapter to what it should have been, namely the first of three Christmas Dinner chapters. To make up for your trouble, I uploaded the second part as well. The two belong together anyway. So... what you need to do now, I think, is to read the previous chapter first (because it has been replaced) and then this one. Have fun. I sincerely hope this works out as planned. Sorry again.

* * *

**Christmas Dinner at McGillivray Manor, Part II**

Severus's eyes shot upwards. He tried to make sense of his Transfiguration teacher's words, but found it startlingly difficult. Had_ the Professor_ just reprimanded _his father_? Surely not. He threw a careful side-glance upwards at the bearded soldier, who seemed inclined to take another person's advice for once because he had started peering into the other room in an attempt of catching a glimpse at Mrs. Black.

"No one in sight," he said, "neither my sister nor her dress. I shall be certain to take notice of it in the course of the evening, though. Will there be many guests?"

"Not enough," sighed the deputy headmistress. "By far not enough if this was meant to be any kind of attempted reunion."

"Well, the old family line is divided," observed the Snape. "There is nothing a Christmas Dinner will be able to do about it. Politics at work, as you doubtless know."

Severus looked around. He had not seen many people yet but those who had caught his attention were not much to his taste. When the Professor finally got round to showing everyone to their seats, however, he realised that it was indeed just a small group of people who had made their way to join the dinner tonight. There were four Blacks (of course, Severus thought, the very person to turn up in spite of so many people staying away was Sirius Black with his annoying younger brother), Richard Lestrange, who was one of his father's work colleagues besides being a relative of some sort, Professor Sprout, his Herbology teacher, a woman he had never seen before, and the three hosts, one of whom was the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts.

This year's dinner promised to be less entertaining than even he had anticipated.

"How is your husband, Minerva?" enquired Mrs. Black after ten minutes of icy silence during the first round of wine, provided by Professor McGonagall's elderly mother. "I hear he had quite a share in my boy's recovery?"

Severus shot his archenemy a foul look. He was not entirely informed about all that had happened during the last term, but he knew with certainty (because Lucius had his ears everywhere) that Black and his friends had got round expulsion once again, when this time, for once, they would certainly have deserved it.

"Foul, stinking piece of shit," Skein remarked, his hand resting lazily on Severus's shoulder. "We'll show him, once we're back at Hogwarts."

"My _ex-_ husband," informed the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts her distinguished guest, "has still not managed to grow up, in spite of his being made head of department at St. Mungo's. His new uniform looks rather dashing, though. It features the usual fish, ring, bird, and tree, all in gold, I was told. They really don't know how to spend their funding properly around that hospital."

"Really, Minerva, as though you could estimate…"

"I can estimate Topaz's way with money, which is quite enough for me to judge rightly in this matter, Gladia."

Wine did strange things to grown-ups, Severus thought. The discussion became more and more heated as the evening continued and both, his aunt and his Transfiguration teacher developed a style of bantering rather more suitable for the Hogwarts grounds between lessons than a grown-up banquet. Most of the male guests, including his own father, spoke little while there was food on the table, but communicated by the use of approving or disapproving grunts, thus accompanying their wives and cousins' words.

At one point, the discussion moved to family matters, which made both, Severus's father and Professor McGonagall move slightly forward in their chair, the latter suddenly seeming less befuddled than only minutes ago.

"Rodney Robertson," said the woman Severus had not met before, "is the reason for my son's state. You cannot honestly keep up his protection, colonel."

It was an unspoken agreement that during the Christmas Dinner all grown-ups used each other's first names, but people like Severus's father were instinctively excluded from this rule by some, especially with relation to delicate subjects, such as Rodney Robertson or the colonel's unwavering loyalty towards his brother's step son. Severus wondered if grown-ups, too, were sometimes a little afraid of the tall soldier when taking positions opposite to his.

"I have every reason to protect the boy," came the soldier's dark voice now from somewhere far above Severus's head. "Your lot would have lynched him on spot if I hadn't. In fact, Fulvia Lupin, I must tell you that there is probably going to be proof of his innocence once we have captured Viminal and locked him in ground level. Rodney has been willing to speak – more so, anyway, than in previous years. He might get over his past sooner than we think, in which case I believe he will be able to provide valuable evidence for or against Thaibary's case."

Professor McGonagall shoved her square glasses back to the top of her nose. "Lance," she said quietly, "you think there might be evidence _for_ Thaibary's innocence?"

"I do indeed," replied the colonel darkly. "There was another one at Mull during that time. At least that is what my sources imply. But let us not speak of it now." His gaze passed Sirius and landed on his son, who, as always when his father's attention was directed at him, straightened up a little in his seat. "Severus, have you had enough?" he enquired, wilfully turning his attention away from the conversation. "I haven't seen you eat a single pea."

"I don't like peas," said Skein, pulling a disgusted face. Severus winced. "B-but I'll be sure to have some, father," he corrected himself quickly.

As the evening drew on there was more wine, more food, and more stories. Sirius had to admit that he loved his uncle's recounts of African tribal movements, even though he did not understand half of what was being said about the military tactics. The matter seemed of greater interest to people who had actually been there. His father, of course, Richard Lestrange (thank Merlin his unbearable sons were not with him for once) and, surprisingly, Professor Sprout, who had been quite chatty all evening and moved closer to the colonel with every glass of wine she consumed.

His uncle, he noticed, tended to content himself with water, in spite of Professor Sprout "accidentally" confusing his glass for hers and thus tempting him to have some of the "delicious" wine, as she put it, again and again. The soldier took all this with somewhat more ease than Sirius would have expected and readily changed all the wine that threatened to come near his mouth into water with a mere flick of his wand.

Professor Sprout seemed disappointed, albeit bemused.

"Really, Lance, I don't see you getting younger over all those serious matters you have to tackle at work," she remarked grinningly. "Why not enjoy some more relaxed activities while being away from M'bwa? By the way, I trust Captain Crabbe is in good health?"

"Splendid," assured the colonel.

"I thought so," mused the Herbology witch. "He has not replied to any of my letters but I get regular updates from the ladies down in the pub, of course… what is it called again, dear?"

"The Elephant," said the colonel.

"Ah, yes. Home to a number of doubtful young ladies, of course, ey?" The Professor nudged Sirius's uncle in the ribs. "None for you among them then?"

"ENOUGH!"

All conversation was silenced as Severus's father put down his glass and rose pointedly from his seat. All three children held their breath, both Blacks raised their eyebrows simultaneously, and Professor Sprout's gaze became somewhat calculating, while Professor McGonagall buried her face in both hands. Severus, Sirius noticed, was not looking at his father for a change, his black eyes glittering with what looked like a sudden jolt of pain and anger – in the direction of their Herbology teacher.

"Noo, that wasnae very sensitive," Mr. McGillivray observed, his wife rising from her seat as well.

"No fighting in this room, please. It is newly refurbished."

"I am sure no one is interested in a duel," said her daughter weakly. "Mandy, that was rude and unnecessary. Lance is still in mourning and you try to hook him up with some barmaid."

"There're many decent ones among them," said Professor Sprout, shrugging. She turned to Severus's father again, re-filling his glass with some suspiciously red-looking water. "Sit down, dear. You know I don't mean it."

"I don't think I shall," said the colonel coldly. "In fact, it might be best if I took my leave. If you'll excuse us, Minerva…"

"Lance," said the deputy headmistress quietly, now getting up as well and walking towards the tall soldier, "let's have a little talk in private. If we have all finished," (she looked around to check if anyone was still eating) "we should proceed to the living room anyway. Mother put up a beautiful Christmas Tree there, although I am sure it will not match the beauty and elegance of the one you have at Grimauld Place."

And she left. Sirius found it astounding how obligingly his uncle followed the slender witch out of the room, given that he usually insisted on getting his will. There was something between the two of them that he could not quite place. Professor McGonagall seemed to have power over everyone, surely on account of being a teacher, but his uncle under anyone's influence? It did not seem very likely.

Something tugged at his sleeve and he looked down. It was Regulus.

"Mother wants us to go in there," said the smaller boy, pointing to a room further down the corridor. "The grown-ups would like to be among themselves."

"That's new," Sirius observed darkly. "I don't mind, though. As long as – oh no!"

It was at this precise moment that he spotted the figure of the younger Snape disappear through the door into the room his brother had indicated.

"Do we have to waste our time with him?"

"I don't know if _we_ have to waste our time with _you_," remarked his brother dryly. "Don't think I'll join you making fun of him just because you're jealous that he made it into Slytherin while you did not. You've done that to me often enough."

At this moment, Sirius would have liked nothing more than smack his younger brother in the face. Last time he had tried, however, his mother had not given him any food for two days in a row and that, he decided, was not worth the fun. Snape would be a better target once they were unsupervised.


	18. Christmas Dinner at McG Manor, Part III

**Christmas Dinner at McGillivray Manor, Part III**

One – zero. The game was won, effortlessly. An easy one, of course, what with Sirius having no opportunity to contradict. Mother was cross with him already. And he, Regulus, was the true heir of the family after all. The true firstborn Black because Sirius was not worth the name. Or was he? When the small group of sullen, silent boys proceeded towards their assigned room at the end of a newly refurbished corridor Regulus wondered if Sirius did, technically, have any chance of re-gaining their parents' favour if only he started behaving normal again. During the past two years, a change had taken place in his older brother, which was quite hard to pinpoint and yet – it was there.

He was no less irascible than usual, oh no. On the contrary, whenever the two of them were alone, Regulus had noticed an increasing amount of verbal attacks from the older boy, whom he had used to admire more than anything in the world before things had started getting all wrong. Sirius had always liked to push people around, but his open hostility towards his younger brother did nothing to improve their relationship, which had been strained since their parents had started putting all their hope for the Black line's future into their younger son instead of Sirius.

The brothers' cousin regarded the pair of them with a hateful, defiant look when they reached their destination. Apart from a few, ancient looking pieces of furniture, this room was empty and, due to a remarkable lack of tartan curtains, astonishingly cold and unwelcoming. Sirius settled down on the floor, quite unceremoniously, as though to demonstrate that he was going to bear the boredom of the remaining evening all by himself. Regulus hesitated. He did not know Severus well. In fact, he had not spoken to him at all, in spite (or possibly because) of the lanky third-year's habit of spending most of his free time in the Slytherin common room.

Right now, Severus did not seem particularly inclined to talk. Even less than usual, if that was at all possible. Upon closer observation, Regulus now noticed that the other boy's eyes were still glittering slightly, probably due to his father's previous encounter with their annoying Herbology teacher. What exactly was it she had said? Regulus lowered his gaze compassionately. He did not have any experience with dying relatives, let alone dying parents. He could only imagine what it would feel like if his mother died from an illness - had possibly known for some time that she was in for it... but, of course, he did not actually know what had happened under the Snape's roof except for what he had picked up here and there. Christmas Dinners were quite useful for that purpose. Regulus took a deep breath and played with his sleeves for a while, giving the other boy time to reassemble himself before saying, "That's one Christmas Dinner this year, isn't it?"

There was a small pause, in which Severus seemed to consider whether the brother of his archenemy was worth acknowledging.

"Yes," he eventually said. "Particularly pleasant."

"I was glad you and your father turned up," said Regulus quietly. "I thought my parents and I would be the only of our kind to turn up when I heard about this year's location."

"Yes, DO exclude me from the family branch, why don't you, Regulus?!"

It had only been a matter of time. Regulus smirked, involuntarily. "The only person to exclude himself from anything is you, Sirius. Right now, for example, you are sitting on the floor, pitying yourself instead of engaging in conversation…"

"I wouldn't talk to _him _anyway!" Sirius snapped.

Severus pulled a grimace of utter revulsion. "Nor me neither!" he retorted.

There was another pause - longer than the one before, and more awkward. Eventually, Regulus turned and walked towards one of the tall windows, letting his gaze wander over the vast forest they had had to cross before entering the manor.

"Some place to live, ey?" he muttered to Severus, who was standing close by.

"I'd hate to live this far away from civilisation," remarked the other boy dryly. "No wonder one would start wasting one's time with Transfiguration out here. There is nothing else to do but turn trees into… well… other trees." He grinned and Regulus saw Sirius roll his eyes.

"You hate it because you can't do it," the older Black sneered. "That's pathetic."

"Careful!" Severus snapped, not wasting any time to take the challenge. "We are not on your premises this time. I will not take any bullshit from you-…"

"Any of you bought of The Caterpillows' new album yet?" Regulus said quickly, knowing full well that his brother, at least, was not at all interested in wizarding rock bands. Two irritated gazes met his.

"No?" snapped Sirius.

"Not interested in bug-ology," Severus added.

"That's entomology," Sirius corrected, a smug expression on his face. "Really, don't they teach you anything down there in the dungeons?"

"Trust you not to notice that classes rarely ever take place in the commons," Severus snapped. "Besides, not everyone can be enough of a Muggle-lover to know their academic branches by heart."

Sirius stared. Regulus was sure that he was not used to this kind of talk from his classmate because he was wearing the exact same look as whenever Regulus managed to think of a witty remark and catch him off-guard. Interestingly, Severus was staring, too, at a point next to his right shoulder, as though an invisible person had suddenly appeared by his side to speak the words for him.

"You are nothing but a slimy git, Snape," said Sirius, resorting to the safety of insults. "Someone who can't transfigure a needle into a matchstick after three years of schooling shouldn't -"

"I _can _transfigure a needle into a matchstick! As much as I can and will transfigure you into a toad if you don't watch your mouth, you pathetic piece of beetle dung!"

Again, Severus seemed taken by rather more surprise than either of the two Blacks. Regulus craned his neck to see if there was indeed someone or something speaking up for Severus, particularly since the greasy-haired boy's voice did not at all sound like his usual quiet self.

Sirius, meanwhile, had stood up slowly, pointedly, and drawn his wand out of the pockets of his robes. "Well then," he said dangerously, advancing on his much smaller classmate. "We'll see about that, shall we?" And he bowed, quite unspectacularly, as though he was a grown-up wizard challenging another for a duel. Regulus held his breath. Severus drew his wand. All three boys knew that as soon as he bowed back Sirius would blast him into oblivion – or try, at the very least. Regulus had rarely seen his brother this angry, although he usually seemed more willing to contain himself for the sake of his dinner.

"Don't," he attempted weakly, "our parents are just a few rooms away and you are not allowed to use magic outside of school…"

"You know as well as I do that duelling is a traditional practice during the Christmas Dinner," Sirius snarled. "And anyway, _Snivellus _here is too much of a coward to actually accept."

A blast of green and white foam hit his mouth the moment these words had left it.

"Duelling is," Severus snarled, "but the bowing isn't. It was introduced by fools such as yourself, who weren't quick enough to strike when they had to."

Sirius choked and spat.

"-xpellia-s," he managed, but his wand seemed to obey properly spoken words only.

" _Impedimentia_," Severus attempted, but the spell missed its target by inches, due to Sirius moving quickly away from his former place and towards Severus, who gasped, backed away, and attempted another spell, but muttered it so that neither of the two boys understood what he was saying. It missed again.

Regulus' skin had got cold under his heavy, black dress robes. What was he to do? A first year, involved in a fight between two third-years? He would be useless, no matter which side he took.

" _Petrificus Totalus!_"

This one had been cast by Sirius, but although Severus had remained motionless, thunderstruck for a second, the spell did not seem to have met its target. The hook-nosed boy remained unharmed and comparatively unconcerned while thinking of another spell to use against his opponent.

"Oh, screw it!" Sirius suddenly said, throwing his wand away and lunging at his cousin with such malice and force that the other boy was too surprised to act at once. Certainly, Regulus had to admit, throwing away your wand in a duel was not something he would have expected anyone to do, least of all his magic-obsessed brother who never missed out a chance to use his magic.

Severus reaction was consequently something he could quite easily appreciate, even though it now put the Slytherin in a highly disadvantageous position, what with Sirius squashing his fragile body underneath his own.

Regulus suddenly became aware that he was still standing at the exact same spot as before, rooted to it, it seemed, without a trace of an idea of what to do about the situation at hand. In a jolt of sudden panic, imagining a grown-up walking in on them, possibly blaming him for all this, he turned on his heel and sped out of the room.

"Please, sir," he said to the first person he bumped into, only a few yards away from where the two other boys were still fighting, "we require assistance in a matter of great disagreement."

"It is hard to miss," observed the colonel darkly. "At least from the kitchen. After you, boy." Regulus was relieved, for a second, that it was not his mother who was now marching towards the place of fight with large, heavy steps. Surely, a person could survive only so many days without food?

The colonel stepped into the room and, without much ado, pulled both, Sirius and Severus apart, who had been lying in a little huddle on the floor, each trying to squeeze the other into a more or less successfully performed headlock. Severus had a part of Sirius's robes between his teeth, while the latter took some time to free himself from strands of what looked like Severus's unwashed hair.

The colonel placed both boys back on the floor, a little apart from each other, as soon as they had realised that the fight was over. He grabbed Sirius's neck quite unceremoniously, and smacked him in the face several times before turning to repeat the same procedure on his own son.

Regulus's eyes widened and he backed away slightly as the soldier built himself up to his full height, grabbing both boys' necks again firmly to make them look him in the eye.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?" he bellowed. "FIGHTING ON CHRISTMAS EVE LIKE A BUNCH OF TODDLERS GONE WILD? WE ARE GUESTS IN THIS HOUSE AND YOU ARE TO _ACT _ ACCORDINGLY! IF YOU CANNOT BEHAVE LIKE RESPONSIBLE YOUNG ADULTS FOR ONCE, YOU WILL LEAVE AND NOT COME BACK!"

He let go of the two of them, who were staring at him – wide-eyed on Severus's part, disturbed and cautions on Sirius's.

"I told you," the colonel said sharply, turning to Severus alone now, "that if there was _one_ more incident of this kind you would go to the office tonight, Christmas Eve or not. And by Merlin, so you will. You," he turned to Sirius, "can rest assured that your father will hear of this!"

"I heard, I heard," came another grown-up voice from the door. Regulus spun around to see several adult witches and wizards enter the room. All the guests, it seemed, had grown curious about the source of the colonel's shouting and had come to have a look at the spectacle. Professor McGonagall pushed herself through from behind her massive best friend, as well as some other guests, and moved quickly towards Regulus's uncle, placing a hand on his shoulder as though feeling that he was in need of being calmed down a little.

"Lance…"

The colonel turned, a perfectly composed expression meeting that of the deputy headmistress. "I am very sorry for the interruption, Minerva," he said politely, taking her hand. "A regrettable incident to occur during a get-together as pleasant as this one."

"Don't worry about me," said the Professor quietly, apparently confused by her opposite's rational tone. "What have the boys done to warrant such shouting?"

The colonel turned to Sirius. "Explain," he said curtly. Regulus saw his brother hesitate, gulp, and then recount what had happened, in rather favourable tones for his own position. Snape senior's expression was unfathomable. "Severus," he said, as calmly as before but with a dangerous twitch in his left hand, "you attacked first?"

The silence that followed was unnerving. Severus shifted from one foot to the other and threw help-seeking looks around before lowering his head, stammering, "Yes'r, but… but -"

"I see," cut his father in. "Well, we shall have time for further discussion tonight, of course. Perseus, I trust you'll take your son over from here?"

Regulus's father nodded while his mother threw murderous looks at her older son. Professor McGonagall's face displayed concern, but for once, she did not speak nor ask any further questions. Severus, on the other hand, had gone from purple to a deadly shade of white now, obviously not pleased with how the events were turning out. Regulus could only imagine how the day was going to end for his cousin and what exactly a trip to 'the office' entailed. Personally, he was quite glad not to have been involved in the fight after all. The colonel's appearance alone had been enough to make him wish he had not been present during this highly unpleasant encounter at all.


	19. Staff Meeting

**Staff Meeting**

Shortly before the students' first day back, the term's first staff meeting was due to take place – not at Rosmerta's for a change, but in the headmaster's office. A selected number of teachers had assembled around the headmaster's massive desk (a relict of Professor Dippet's time). Mandragora Sprout had brought a few pieces of parchment on which she had meticulously listed (and sometimes illustrated) all the changes she wished to make with respect to greenhouse three to turn it into a student working place after all. The headmaster had told his Herbology professor that there were more pressing matters at hand, but Mandy was not so easily put off.

Her colleague, Minerva McGonagall, was currently involved in a conversation with Emeric Flitwick, as well as Professors Sinistra, Vector, and Bablefish, addressing the significance of their respective subjects. (Mandy suspected that ever since Professor Dumbledore's announcement of the imminent changes each of them had been fearing for their department's survival.) This was a remarkable fact of its own, considering that the deputy headmistress did not usually mix with the younger staff members (not counting Emeric, whose age would have given Dumbledore a run for his Galleons), surpassed only by the fact that Minerva seemed entirely at ease all of a sudden, not for a minute thinking of the problems the recent developments within the Ministry of Magic had caused and were still causing within her family. Mandy pondered whether the older witch knew, perhaps, what the headmaster had to announce, particularly as this staff meeting's location had been chosen, apparently, after a quite intimate chat between the two of them.

"I have spoken to a few members of the Ministry of Magic," Professor Dumbledore explained to them, having entered his office later than everyone else and wearing a slightly weary expression on his face, which suggested that he had only just returned from London. "And was _assured_ the new Educational Act is going to pass within the next two months. Until then, however, much is to be done within Hogwarts wall to adapt to this new system."

Minerva gave a small cough. "Perhaps you should tell the staff exactly what the Act entails, Albus."

"Ah. Yes, of course, Minerva," smiled the headmaster. "I was just coming to that."

"I think most of us would be particularly interested if there are going to be any further cuts," remarked Stochastica Vector sharply. "Especially cuts concerning _whole departments_."

"You have not forgotten our dear Professor Cantus, I notice," said Dumbledore smilingly. "And you will be happy to hear that none of the imminent changes will affect the curriculum at all. They are of an administrative nature and concern the school's relation to the Ministry of Magic, as well as some bureaucratic details you need not worry about. Those are Minerva's responsibility."

"Our relation to the Ministry?" intervened Professor Bablefish.

"Up to now," explained the headmaster, "the school has been answerable to the Minister for Magic and the Department for Magical Education in every respect of school life. This was to ensure that its teachers would not run wild and take advantage of their position. That is, the Ministry was mainly trying to prevent biased grading and so forth. It used to happen when the admission of Muggleborns was still a recent idea. This was long before my time, of course, and I daresay most of us will have been lying in their nappies when for the first time…"

A second, slightly more pronounced cough brought the headmaster back on topic. "The situation is such," he quickly continued, "that most of our rules derive from the previous century and that the school's basic constitution is always, always subject to political changes. A situation that will come to an end as soon as the aforementioned Restitutional Act of British Wizarding Education has been fully approved by the Wizengamot and two other independent authorities."

"So how come you are informing us of imminent changes before the Ministry has even commented on the matter?" Mandy remarked. The headmaster remained silent for a short while. Obviously, he had not been looking forward to speaking of this particular point and yet known that he would have to sooner or later.

"As I say," he said slowly, exchanging a quick glance with Professor McGonagall, "it is only a question of formalities. The authorities are not particularly opposed to the idea as such."

"Does either of these authorities happen to be under the direct influence of a certain A. P. W. B. Dumbledore?" enquired Emeric Flitwick, selecting a biscuit from the tray on the table.

"Both, actually," replied the headmaster, flashing a mischievous, though vaguely guilty smile at the shortest member of staff. "I must say I was quite eager to have my will in this matter. But let us discuss the situation at hand…"

"Albus," came Professor Sinistra's voice from the other end of the table, "which of the old rules do you intend to change?"

"Ah," said Dumledore pleasantly, "this is my favourite part. You see, I can be entirely open for suggestions there. One reason why I intended this staff meeting to be slightly more… exclusive than our usual ones is that each of us now has the option of shaping the school to a much greater extent than in previous years. If there is anything you found particularly vexing, it can now be changed much quicker and be replaced by something entirely new if you are thus inclined. Personally, as I already mentioned to the some of you before, I will insist on the abandonment – no, the prohibition – of the old punishments, especially those which are still partly in use."

Some of the teachers laughed politely, others nodded in agreement. It was common knowledge that the headmaster had wanted to get rid of the thrashing vault ever since he had joined the Hogwarts staff as a Transfiguration teacher. Minerva's face displayed an almost imperceptible smile, confirming Mandy's suspicion that she had discussed this with the headmaster before.

"How, if I might ask," Professor Bablefish now enquired, "are we supposed to keep the students under control without at least the potential use of punishments?"

"Isn't that obvious?" snapped the deputy headmistress. Mandy turned her head in surprise. It seemed her friend had only waited for this question to occur. "We have been applying mild forms of detention for quite a long time now. They will be entirely sufficient…"

"Unless in particularly difficult cases, as you should know," challenged her colleague. "What about troublemakers like Mundungus Fletcher and Daedalus Diggle?"

"…or James Potter and Sirius Black? I am well aware of the more complicated cases," said the deputy headmistress tartly. "Given that all of them, without exception, seem to be in Gryffindor. Still, I believe Albus's idea of deducting house-points will do the job to our full satisfaction."

"House points?"

"We have devised a rather complex system of giving and taking points for particular academic achievements and rule-breaking," the headmaster explained. "Minerva will give you the finer details in a minute. The idea is that students will compete for a prize and thus have an eye on each other instead of forming alliances against the staff."

"Isn't that rather competitive?" Mandy threw in.

"Yes," replied the headmaster, "but I believe that some competition can be quite healthy in today's world, not to forget that I deem this system rather fairer towards the students than beating them with a stick."

"Or tying them to the dungeon walls," added Stochastica Vector. "By the way, if we are to enforce this kind of change, someone should inform Argus Filch. He rarely ever learns of this kind of event in time."

"I will," Mandy volunteered. "I so enjoy talking to him."

"I find him about as enjoyable as your next firecrab," observed her colleague coldly. "But that is your personal business, not mine." Mandy flashed her a grin.

"Am I to understand that we are replacing a system of threat by one that focuses on rewarding achievements?" Professor Sinistra suddenly intervened.

"Yes," replied the headmaster. "And I must apologise for not giving you the finer details beforehand. Minerva and I put the finishing touches to this particular change only last night. Alexander has been a bit of a nuisance, I must say. What is funny, Mandragora?"

"Oh, I have been wondering how much of this you two discussed beforehand," Mandy said quickly. "It's not that I find Alexander funny, actually. On the contrary, he can be rather irritating…"

"…as opposed to Argus Filch," Stochastica Vector prompted. Mandy decided to ignore her.

"Well, I am glad about this change," Professor Sinistra contributed, looking each staff member in the eyes. "The stories the thrashing vault always entailed make the hair on my neck curl. Besides, we can put the room to a better use. I keep thinking we ought to have a potions laboratory at Hogwarts. A professional one, I mean. Alexander would be delighted."

"I am sure," the headmaster said politely. "However, for that we shall have to wait for an official sign from the authorities, otherwise their decision might be questioned by certain people…"

"As though you hadn't made sure such protest will meet deaf ears within the Ministry," Emeric muttered, helping himself to another cookie.

"You know me too well," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling pleasantly. "But I suggest we should not take our chances. For now, let me hear your suggestions concerning most pressing changes, please. I shall need some time to organise things if there are more complicated matters, such as Mandragora's planned refurbishment of the greenhouses."

"I would like to move my office a little closer to Gryffindor tower," the deputy headmistress said a little too quickly. Mandy got the impression that people were trying to avoid her planned discussion "As it is, I have not much of a chance to be at the place of crime in time, _should_ any inconveniences occur."

"Speaking of inconveniences," Emeric cut in, "I strongly suggest we pin a shortened, easy-to-understand copy of the school rules permanently to the Gryffindor notice board. Anyone agree with me?"

Nearly everyone raised their hand, trying not to look overly amused.

"Will do," said Minerva sourly, although even she had not been able to deny the necessity of this. "And I was wondering – will there be an option of enlarging the restricted section of the library? There are some fantastic books concerning animal transfiguration, which I have been intending to buy for a while now…"

"You will have to speak to Madame Pince about that," the headmaster replied. "But I shall let her know individually that Ministry observation is cut down in that respect. I am not sure whether she attended the feast or not."

"Headmaster," said Emeric suddenly, sounding a little quieter than usual, although his voice was still as penetrating as usual, "I would like to request a change of position."

All other voices went quiet at once.

"You don't wish to leave?" Dumbledore looked surprised and Minerva McGonagall took off her glasses, subjecting them to a violent cleaning. This was voicing what everyone had implicitly been expecting ever since the small man had agreed to take on the Defence job's reputation.

"No," replied the small wizard matter-of-factly. "But I would like to leave the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to someone who produces somewhat less of a laughing effect every time they enter the room."

"Your students respect you," said the deputy headmistress harshly, putting her glasses back where they belonged.

"There are other reasons," Flitwick replied curtly. "I was thinking, however, that I would happily fill the Charms vacancy next year, if that is an option at all."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, the situation is known to me, of course. The problem being that I would have to find someone willing to teach the subject and there are less and less people prepared to take this upon them."

"Could Alexander not do it?" enquired Stochastica Vector.

"He is a Potions expert through and through," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "But I might ask a friend of mine… an old friend of mine, in fact. Very old."

Minerva's eyes widened slightly. "You are not planning to invite Master Flamel, are you?"

"Why not?" said Dumbledore pleasantly. "He is a skilled wizard and the students could do with a little humour in their Defence lessons."

"He is tasteless," his deputy replied, frowning. "Please, Albus, you cannot seriously consider this."

"I find him no more tasteless than your uncle, if you'll excuse my bluntness," Stochastica Vector remarked. "And we had him teach Potions for two entire years."

"A disaster," Minerva mumbled, nodding in agreement.

The words "kilt incident" hung in the air like the stale smell of coffee after a night's continuous work.

"We shall talk about staff matters when the term is over," Dumbledore decided. "I am afraid we cannot make such drastic changes in the middle of the school year. Incidentally," he added, looking at each of them in turn, "that is also the reason why Alexander is staying – for now. Minerva and I discussed the matter for some time and decided that the students do prosper in his lessons, which should be our main concern when deciding what to do about the Potions position. At the end of the year, I am afraid he will have to go."


	20. Back Home

**Author's Notes: **This should have been up ages ago. I just found it listed under documents. Tons of apologies for the delay.

* * *

**Back Home**

"I've just had the worst holidays of my entire life."

The four Gryffindor third-year boys were sitting in a huddle in the common room, recounting stories of the past weeks. They had met at the earliest possible convenience and nearly everyone, it seemed, had received one or the other nasty shock in the course of these three weeks of holidays. Then again, perhaps the sudden cropping up of horror stories had had its origin in Sirius having recounted a number of unpleasant incidents concerning his relatives, indicating that no one could possibly have suffered more at any point of their lives than he had this Christmas. Following stories about his disputes with Regulus and their parents' consequential punishment of only fifty percent of the parties concerned, James had taken his turn recounting a story of unbelievable mishap and suffering involving his having to sleep in the cellar with his parents because the house had been almost completely destroyed by one of his father's colleagues while attempting to demonstrate his capture of a South-African Letifold.

Peter was sitting in an armchair, one hand placed on the shoulder of Remus Lupin, who had recoiled to the farthest end of the small couch and was hiding behind a book called 'Around the World in 800 Hours – Broomsticks and Their Capacity" to avoid unpleasant questions about his Christmas.

"I was also made to sleep in a _tent_," James continued complaining. "For two weeks in a row! We went on a no-magic adventure trip to East Sussex in the middle of nowhere right at the beginning of the holidays. There is a camp site near Hastings and my parents wanted to try it out… you know, to get to know Muggle leisure time activities. Complete waste of time, o'course. There was hardly a soul there and the weather was _horrible_!"

"Oooh," marvelled Peter. "Bad luck, mate. My parents never do that kind of thing. They're just listening to Wizarding Wireless all the time. Quidditch league comparisons, divination of second half results, end of year expectations, etc. I always get to decide for myself what I wanna spend my time with."

"You had a good Christmas then?" Sirius enquired, his face perfectly straight.

"Fantastic," said Peter, trying to sound honest. "I loved having time to complete that Charms essay and stuff… It really would have been much nicer if you guys had been around, though."

"Yup," nodded James.

"Same here," agreed Sirius. "Especially on Christmas Eve."

"I would have liked to see McGonagall's home," remarked Remus from behind his book. Three heads turned in surprise.

"What was that?" James prompted, seizing the chance of getting more out of his friend than just this one remark. "What're you talking about, mate?"

"I think it would be interesting to see where she lives… what her family is like, and so on," Remus replied without lowering his book. "I think she is quite interesting… as a person."

"Do you have a crush on her?" James said, looking baffled, while Sirius fell over in a fit of wild laughter. Remus's eyes appeared on top of his book's edge.

"No."

"You sound as though you do," Peter remarked, and James nodded in concurrence.

"She is a good-looking woman in her thirties, after all," he teased.

"Fourties," came Sirius's voice from underneath the other armchair. James gave him an irritable look.

"Whatever, mate. She's gross."

"I thought you said she was good-looking?" Remus enquired, his book at its previous position again. James's gaze darkened.

"Hey, that's not how I… for I you /I , you bleedin' idiot! Look, I am just trying to be helpful here, okay?" Anger flushed the Potter's face and, as always when attacked, his voice assumed a darker, defiant tone. "What do they say again about everlasting desire and stuff?"

"That's vampires, you fool," remarked Sirius, having recovered from his laughing fit. "Remus is just the big, dangerous monster no one likes to socialise with, remember?"

"Keep it down," warned Peter, noticing a change in their friend's expression while worrying, at the same time, that someone might run in on them any minute, what with the end of the start-of-term feast approaching. Sirius and James were giggling (while trying to remain very butch, of course) at the mentioning of their last Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson before the holidays, in which their teacher had informed them exactly which traits were typical for people like Remus both, in their human and in their wolf shape.

"Your family's rather nice, though, aren't they?" Peter addressed their werewolf friend quickly, embarrassed that James and Sirius should display such a good mood in light of Remus's condition. "Wasn't seeing your auntie again something you've been looking forward to all term?"

A pair of blue eyes appeared slowly from behind the book again. Remus was not the only one surprised at Peter not laughing alongside Sirius and James for a change, but it was even more surprising that he seemed capable of handling an awkward situation quite so elegantly.

"If you must know," sighed Remus then, putting his book away once and for all, as though deciding to give Peter a chance, "I did enjoy seeing them all again. I do think I'm more or less all right again, by the way. Oh, and since you mention my aunt…"

"Really?" cut Sirius in. "Completely recovered? I mean, mentally and stuff? About Balbina?"

There was a small pause. It was what everyone had wanted to know and what everyone had been too considerate to ask.

"Anyway," said Remus, his voice slightly higher and with an edge to it, "I was actually going to tell you that Dumbledore visited my family during the holidays."

"Really?" said James excitedly while Peter just stared, both eyes and mouth open.

"Really," repeated Sirius, to whom this did not seem in the least surprising. "Well done, mate. Any news then?"

"Well… yes," said Remus uneasily, "obviously, or I wouldn't be trying to tell you about it – if I may? Quite a lot happened while I was at home this time, actually, although I don't really know what to make of it all. Here's the thing: Dumbledore came over to talk to me about… about stuff." He was still carefully avoiding the subject of his most recent transformation. "And everyone was in a huff about it – my mother is horrible in that respect. She always cleans the whole house when we have visitors. Anyway, Dumbledore said he wasn't going to stay a minute – no idea how he was gonna manage getting home because the next ferry wasn't due until early the next morning – anyway, she started cleaning and father was out doing some repair work on the roof, I think, and my Auntie Maude was making dinner when Dumbledore arrived. So… he entered, stopped, stared, forgot all about me (literally – I could tell from the look in his eyes) and gazed at my auntie for a few moments. She, in turn, smiled at him and tried to offer him a seat, but he just stood there, paralysed, and eventually grabbed her arms, not saying a word. Very weird. He then turned around because my mother came in to greet him, but when she saw his face she was like – what's happened here? And he blinked and said thank you for having me and all that and then went on staring at Maude, as though thinking he was mistaken…"

Remus's voice was higher than usual now and he was speaking much quicker than usual.

"And then," he went on, "and then he said 'Maude', although no one had introduced them yet and 'is it you?' and stuff like that."

"Must've been scary," Sirius mused, suddenly quite serious and interested in the conversation again. "Dumbledore rarely ever loses his composure. What was wrong with her?"

"Well, my auntie's quite a special story," Remus replied. "But even I didn't know that until mother told me… well, Dumbledore all about it. She said Maude wasn't really my auntie. My parents found her one day, almost killed by Mull's pouring rain… well and possibly the people who seemed to be hunting her down. Mother said if a Muggle is hunted by wizards, he or she is usually a victim, not a crim-"

"Hang on," cut Sirius in, "didn't you tell us your auntie was from your mother's side?"

"Well," said Remus, "as I mentioned before – she doesn't seem to be my aunt after all… genetically," he added after a moment's hesitation. "I still love her and everything."

"But you said she was a Muggle!" Sirius said loudly, sounding confused.

"Impossible though it may seem to you, _Black_," snapped James, his head turning towards his tall friend, "it is _possible_ to love Muggles. They are humans, you know!"

"That's NOT what I meant!" flared Sirius up. "How can it be that you thought she was from a wizarding family?"

"Everyone thought she was a witch," Remus said quietly. "My parents saw to that. I dunno… I know I never asked. Seems no one else did either."

"Okay, whatever," cut James in. "Why is it Dumbledore made such a fool of himself when he saw her?"

"Well," said Remus quietly, "that's the part I didn't entirely get. Cause he was like 'Maude, don't you remember me?' – cause she was staring at him as though he'd gone mad, you see. And he told her lots of names and places and she was always like – 'Never heard of it, Professor.' And he said he thinks she's bewitched or obliviated or something. Cause apparently she knows something – or _ought_ to know something that's of real importance to him –"

"We gathered as much," said Sirius tiredly, letting himself fall backwards on the floor. Peter gave him a stunned look.

"What've you done to your skin?"

In the course of Remus's narration, Sirius had tested several ways of repeating what he had almost succeeded in doing the night Remus had attacked him. He had done so regularly ever since his limbs had obeyed his command again and by now was able to achieve a complete transformation of either his skin or the bones of his upper body. With a superior smile the young Black sat up again and allowed his friends to marvel at him for a while before willing the fur to disappear again. Remus had completely lost track and even James was lost for words.

"How long've you been able to do that?"

"Ages," replied Sirius, looking smug. "Been practising all Christmas."

"Incomplete transformations can be dangerous and cause permanent damage," said Remus warningly. "I read about it in…"

"Yes," cut Sirius in, sounding very impatient. "Yes, Remus. I read the same book, believe it or not. But I learned something down in that dungeon the other night. I learned that we'll never get the hang of the transformation if we don't make actual attempts. The Patronus idea was good to start with, but the next step is to actually perform magic -"

"But it's dangerous -"

"_Remus_!" Sirius appeared to grow more impatient by the minute. "I _know_ it's dangerous. I _know_ they say there is a risk of permanent damage, but I also know that there is a risk of me never succeeding in performing a complete transformation. And, believe it or not, I prefer taking the former."

"How much of your body can you change at the same time?" James enquired curiously.

"Oh, I dunno," replied his friend vaguely, suddenly a bit deflated. "I never… I haven't gone the whole way, you know. Not yet. I kept thinking I'd wait a bit longer after the accident… dunno. Just a feeling…"

"Well," said James, "do it now. I wanna see how far you can go."

Remus slammed his hand on the arm rest beside him and stood up. "Are you completely nuts, James Potter? Don't egg him on!"

"He doesn't need egging on," James said dryly, getting up as well, slowly and rather pointedly. He was about the same height as Remus, but the young werewolf backed away nevertheless.

"Right, whatever. Not here, okay? It's too out in the open."

A small sound from near the fireplace drew three pairs of eyes in its direction and made James's jaw drop. Sirius had used their little dispute to get up from his seat, lower himself on all fours and change his entire upper (or rather front) body into something resembling a huge, black dog. He growled at James, grew some more fur, and scrambled forwards, aiming at Remus, both legs and his torso still perfectly human shaped. James's expression broadened into a grin.

"That's _awesome_…"

"That's strange… I thought he was gonna be a wolf," Peter remarked.

"True," said James, scratching his neck. "Well, a dog would be more suitable, I sup- hey! STOP IT THIS INSTANT!"

Sirius had nonchalantly raised his leg at his pureblood friend, now looking as though he was aiming.

"You aren't THAT much of a dog, surely?"

It was at this precise moment that from outside the portrait hole girls' voices and laughter appeared. The end-of-term banquet had to be over and now people were returning to their common room, planning to retire. James saw a glint of panic on his three friends' faces and perceived his own stomach lurching.

"Turn back," he whispered. "Quick!"

But Sirius the dog sat on the carpet, his gaze directed at the back of the Fat Lady, his canine face panic ridden. James saw that his expression was more human again, and he perceived bits and pieces of the black fur disappearing on several parts of Sirius's handsome body, but on the whole their friend seemed to have unforeseen problems returning to his own shape and completely at a loss how to face them.

Seconds later the room was filled with Gryffindors. With a jolt of sudden inspiration, James had grabbed Sirius's furry neck and shoved the young Black under a heap of pillows piled up on one of the two red couches, head first, and with no consideration of how his friend was going to breathe. Remus inclined his head at Sirius's human backside sticking out, which looked ridiculous but not altogether unusual, considering their friend's normal behaviour.

A group of three girls were the first to enter, all of them in the same year as the three boys. Lily Evans was involved in some excited chatter with Rebecca Wood, while their friend Marlene McKinnon trotted along behind them, so absorbed in a book that she almost walked into Remus who was trying to keep James from seating himself on top of Sirius's pile of pillows.

"Lupin!"

"Yes," replied the young werewolf. "How are you today, Marlene?"

"Did you miss the feast again?" the girl said frowningly. "McGonagall won't be pleased. She did tell you last time that you _have_ to attend these occasions, didn't she?"

"I believe she did," replied Remus politely.

"I know she did," came James's voice from the top of the pillows. "Because she threw something at me. Chalk, I believe it was."

"Raving mad that one," Remus remarked, feeling very bold. He did not get to chat with 'the cool ones' very often, save, of course, Sirius and James who in recent months had built up a reputation as mischievous intellectuals, which was highly appreciated even amongst the older students. The Gryffindor third-year boys were funny, everyone thought, but hardly anyone had Peter or Remus in mind while pointing this out.

Among the girls, Marlene McKinnon had acquired a status as their year's valedictorian. She seemed to have a knack for anything she started and to maintain her good grades for quite a long time, admittedly only until she lost interest, but this rarely ever seemed to happen. In flying lessons she had always been the one to go highest (not counting James, who had beaten her by inches only during their first lesson) and now, it seemed, she had taken a liking to Arithmency and Defence Against the Dark Arts, in which, Remus knew, she excelled.

"McGonagall's an ass," the girl now said, flicking Remus an interested side-glance. "She gave me a B on our last essay."

"Outrageous," came James's voice from several inches above. Remus wished he would shut up and stop drawing attention to himself and his position, but James seemed to enjoy this kind of risky game and so, it appeared, did Peter.

"Yeah," he eventually replied to the girl, who was still eying him curiously. He suddenly realised that this was a test. Several girls James had once described as 'the cool ones' were listening, waiting to see if he, Remus, was going to take this chance of being accepted into their exclusive circle. He scratched his head. "She's really unfair. I mean, she's the only teacher who docks points from her own house, isn't she? And it's… well… she should've known you're usually top of the class, so… yeah. What a bitch. She should have given you an A."

Everyone was silent now. For a moment, Remus thought he had enraptured them with his recount, but then realised that this was one of those silences where the speaker suddenly turns and becomes aware of the presence of another person in the room. For a panic-ridden moment Remus was too scared to move, but then turned and, not unexpectedly, looked into the eyes of the deputy headmistress, Professor McGonagall.

"Now," said the middle-aged witch crisply. "What nonsense is this? You do not usually talk about matters you have no insight in, Mr. Lupin. I am going to I assume /I that you had your own, private reasons for stating this nonsense, boy. No, don't say anything." She held up her hand, giving Remus no chance of defending himself, which was probably only the beginning of a well-devised retaliation plan. "I have come," their head of house now continued, "to enquire about the absence of a certain group of third-year boys during the start-of-term banquet. I trust, Mr. Lupin, you and your friends had a reason of profound value for not joining us in the Great Hall today?"

Remus blinked. She had noticed. How on earth had she noticed with several hundred students in her care?

"I was looking specifically for you," McGonagall informed him as though she had read his thoughts, "since we agreed for me to explain what happened before the holidays, do you recall that?"

Remus's stomach gave a funny jolt. The explanation, of course. McGonagall had asked for him to sit quite close to the front during the banquet in order for people to see that he was there and that he was human to make her story more believable. Her story of Remus "pretending" to be the werewolf in question in order to keep the Knights from randomly killing his fellow students. Remus could not remember everything Professor McGonagall and the headmaster had intended to tell the students, but he now remembered just how imperious it had been for him to be present at this specific start-of-term feast. His shoulders sagged.

"I am sorry, Professor," he whispered. "I forgot."

"That," said his Head of House curtly, "is apparent. I do not approve of this deliberate flouting of school rules, Mr. Lupin, as you know. I have told you before that the start-of-term banquet is as obligatory as any lesson and that I would put you in detention for skiving off. Funny, really, that you should be taking this risk."

She avoided the subject of the Knight matter, Remus noticed not without gratitude, and confided herself with being her outraged teacher self instead. Remus vaguely remembered her mentioning detention, but he doubted either of them had seen this as a real threat at the time.

"The same goes for you, Mr. Potter," the Professor continued raging, "And you, Mr. Pettigrew. I shall write your parents about this, make no mistake. And – Mr. BLACK! I am TALKING to you for Merlin's sake! Stop presenting me with your backside and come out of there this instant!"

Three very worried-looking faces turned to the place where Sirius's backside was still sticking out from under the pillows.

A muffled sound let Remus's heart sink even further. Not even Sirius's vocal cords seemed to have resumed their usual form. What would the Professor say if she saw half an Animagus in her own common room? Their cover was blown. A glance at James told him that the other boy thought the same.

The sudden appearance of Sirius's raspy voice from under the pillow made not only Remus jump.

"I don't think I will, Professor," it said. "I am in the middle of an experiment, you see…"

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped the deputy headmistress tartly. "Come out or I shall have to send you to the headmaster on your first day back."

There was a short moment in which no one dared move. Then, slowly, at a snail's pace, Sirius crawled out from under the blankets, looking almost entirely human again, not counting his face, which…

"So I thought," remarked Professor McGonagall dryly. "I would like to say that I expected better of you, Mr. Black, but for some reason this seems just your style. Go to the hospital wing at once and have Madame Pomfrey remove this ridiculous beard! You will hand her the potion you used and apologise for bothering her so early into the term. Is that understood?"

Sirius nodded, surveying the tips of his toes, but Remus could see that he was suppressing a grin. "Yes, Professor," he replied, his voice sounding pressed. "I am very sorry."


	21. Baculo

**Author's Note:** Part of this story I uploded before, took it down again for editing (and squeezing in another chapter beforehand), so here is the refined version, including a new part at the end, which belongs in the same chapter, really.

* * *

**

Baculo

**

Severus's first day back at school after three long and straining weeks of holidays was marked by a remarkable absence of teasing. In fact, when he arrived at the Great Hall's giant entrance doors, he was able to push himself through a huge crowd of students without being called a 'jerk' or a 'twit' even once. He settled down at the Slytherin table all by himself and put his hand in his pocket, where Pebble, the grey stuffed dragon, was curling up in the palm of his hand, making small, vibrating movements, as though purring in silence – and satisfaction.

Moments later, another boy appeared and sat down to Severus's right side without requesting permission.

"You haven't seen it, have you?" he remarked. Severus gave his friend Timothy an astounded look.

"What?"

"The notice board is full of recent changes," replied the other boy. "They have revised all school rules over the holidays. Just like that. All of a sudden. Dumbledore has put up a list of new rules. Apparently, he is going to tell us the details after the feast, but the list's already there. New rules, new punishments, new official rights. It's awesome!"

"What's it say?" enquired Severus curiously, still stroking the purring dragon.

"I didn't get round to reading it all," said Timothy gloomily. "A sixth year pushed me away. But apparently we get to visit Hogsmeade from time to time. As a sort of reward for being good. You know what I mean?"

Severus shook his head. Timothy laughed.

"Smartass," he said. "Anyway, it is officially allowed to use magical objects in the corridors now. Cause they're not our own magic. Only we're not allowed to use anything that might harm others or is written down on the list of prohibited objects… Dumbledore and Filch devised a list, apparently, which is as long as a giant's elbow. Marlene told me about them…"

"Marlene McKinnon?"

For the first time, Severus's curiosity was picked. "What business does she have talking to you?"

Timothy blushed.

"Tim," said Severus sweetly, his lips curling into a disbelieving sneer, "she is a Gryffindor. You cannot go out with her."

"Oh, come on!" snapped the other boy impatiently. "Just because they're different from us doesn't mean they aren't incredibly good-looking! Plus, I am approaching fourteen. A crucial age. I need a girlfriend, or my status will be ruined for the rest of my life."

Severus hesitated, then shrugged. Being considerably younger than his classmates, he found that his interest often concerned topics that were very unrelated to Timothy's and the other third year Slytherins' interests. The subject of girls, for one, was not something Severus liked to discuss.

"Have you seen any… other Gryffindors?" he thus changed the subject somewhat nonchalantly. Timothy gave him a meaningful look.

"No. Not yet. But they're here. They're this term's second sensation. You know what happened to Balbina, don't you? And all the details?"

Severus had not. Timothy told him.

"You will realise," Dumbledore completed young Nott's account a little while later, "that in spite of the dangerous and very tragic events of last term, some of your basic rights have been extended and no further limitations have been introduced to your everyday situation. This, I believe, is necessary to oppose the impression of insecurity and restlessness, which has befallen us all in recent months. Most of the culprits of Mull have been caught and imprisoned, I am happy to announce, but we need to realise that we are not fighting against a group of lunatics gone wild here. The world is changing – and its people are changing as well. Opinion is opposing opinion within the Ministry of Magic at the moment and it is only a matter of time until a substantial decision is made concerning the future of our society. In order to not subject Hogwarts to the arbitrariness of the Wizengamot's decisions, I have effected a few changes in the school's relation with politics. I am delighted to tell you that the Minister for Magic and the school governors have now confirmed that the full responsibility for the school's future and internal organisation falls upon myself now, hopefully for a long time. Therefore, starting today, a few… misfits within Hogwarts's terms and regulations will cease to at least directly affect you. We, that is –" he turned and pointed at his fellow staff members respectively, "Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and myself have devised a simple system, by which future achievements will be awarded and rule-breaking opposed. Professor, if you would care to explain…?"

Professor McGonagall raised from her seat, as though she had rehearsed this moment.

"We have introduced a system of 'House Points'," she informed the mass of students spread all over the Great Hall. (Severus wrinkled his nose, mainly because everyone else seemed to do so.) "As of this moment, all teachers are authorised to award or take away points from each of the four houses in cases of exceptional achievements or rule-breaking, respectively. How often and how many points this includes will depend on your behaviour and your academic efforts. This method will replace the more outdated forms of punishment that are still officially in use at this school, which date from I daresay a century even before your parents were born."

Severus got the impression that, at this, she threw a nasty side-glance at the right-hand side of the staff table. He could not tell for sure, however, and could not imagine anyway at whom she would be glaring in a situation such as this. Dumbledore was wearing his usual polite smile.

"At the end of the year," Professor McGonagall concluded, "a prize will be awarded to the house with the most points. We will test this system and if it works out as planned, no further changes will be made. Thank you."

She settled down again. Severus thought she was being rather abrupt, but it dawned on him that his Transfiguration teacher was not necessarily used to addressing huge amounts of students, Deputy Headmistress or not. The only one talking was usually Professor Dumbledore.

"You're staring at McGonagall as though you were going to leap at her any moment," Timothy informed his friend quietly while tucking in the fantastic dinner that appeared on the table in front of them at this moment. "Careful, or she might notice your crush."

"I was just –" began Severus, but stopped. He realised just in time that he was being had on. Timothy chuckled into his pasta.

"You know," he said thoughtfully after a while, "it's only a few weeks till the exams. That's a pretty good chance to get that prize she was talking about, don't you think? I wonder what it might be…"

"Probably just a stupid book," Severus muttered. "Hogwarts a History or something."

"Don't be an idiot," Timothy hissed. "It's gotta be something you can award to an entire house. Probably some new decoration for the common room or something."

"Boring," retorted Severus, starting to chew on a slice of pizza. "Even more boring than a book."

"What would you want?" Timothy enquired. Severus considered for a moment.

"Liquorice," he eventually said, putting on a dreamy expression. "And… oh, and access to the Restricted Section of the library. For some real-value reading."

Timothy laughed. "Rubbish," he said. "You don't want a book, but you wanna go to the library?"

"I have to be picky," Severus muttered. "Besides, if I could enter that section, no one would be able to vanish my homework while I'm working."

"Don't start that again," replied Timothy warningly. "You know McGonagall doesn't like being lied to."

"Well," snapped Severus indignantly, "I don't like her being a right old hag and I don't go reminding her of it. Besides, it's not a lie! Only the other day, I -"

"Severus," interrupted his friend, a bit sharper than before, "just… don't start any fights again, okay? Not this term. Not right before the exams."

Severus did not grace him with a reply. It was useless. They all were.

A few days later, Severus and Skein were standing in front of Professor McGonagall's office again, ready for another of her tedious remedial lessons, which usually took place in the Transfiguration classroom, but had been moved to the professor's office for convenience reasons. Severus had half intended to ask his friend to join him within the Deputy Headmistress's realm but then realised it was impossible. He hated offices. Being inside them made him feel small and worthless. But it was for this reason, Skein had told him, that he had to go by himself. Skein could not come along when Severus felt horrible. He could not bide with him when Severus had the impression of falling back several years into his childhood and the worst moments of the early days. Skein never felt that way. He would not be useful in this.

As always, Severus was overcome by a wave of icy loneliness when he pushed the office door open and slouched inside. Finding Professor McGonagall in a considerably bad mood did not help. She had built a pile of books on her desk, which was otherwise crammed with parchments and important-looking items, such as an inkwell, which changed its colour every now and then, and an oddly shaped hourglass that looked as though someone had made several attachments to it in order to allow the sand to flow in all sorts of directions, not just vertically.

"You are late," the professor snapped indignantly as Severus approached her. "Almost seven minutes. Sit down!"

Severus sat. A last glance at the door behind him told him that Skein had left altogether now and at once, his limbs gave their usual impression of being tied to the chair, which made the giant desk in front of him appear even larger.

"I know we haven't had a lesson for a while," said the deputy headmistress, not looking up from a letter she was reading. She sounded tired and entirely distracted. "Let me see…" she put one of her quills in front of him on the desk and pointed at it. "A simple wooden stick, please, Mr. Snape, to warm up."

Severus stared at the quill in front of him. Something icy had got hold of his neck and was breathing over his shoulder.

"Baculo," Skeins voice whispered in his ear and Severus's hand began to shake.

"B-bacolo," he attempted, realising the moment his wand finished the simple movement that the spell would backfire. He ducked, and a greenish flash missed his hair by a few inches.

"Good to see that you have quick reactions at least," Professor McGonagall muttered, putting the letter aside. Her mind still seemed elsewhere. She had not even flinched.

"I am sorry, Professor," Severus muttered, finding that his body was still not quite under his control.

"Another attempt, please," replied the professor crisply. "It's a question of the right wording, is it not?"

Severus nodded.

"I believe you have not come as far as phonetic resemblances in Study of Ancient Runes?" Professor McGonagall enquired.

"The Professor told us that a single deviation of the initial intonation can cause the opposite of the desired effect," Severus whispered. "And… and Professor Flitwick mentioned in Charms that leaving out an entire syllable can cause horrible accidents…"

"He would know," the professor said quietly. "His brother once accidentally blew himself up while trying to make a feather fly. Not particularly talented that one. Survived, though. At least until the war…" She stopped. "Another attempt, please," she said suddenly, giving her voice a sharp, very demanding sound. "Like so: Baculo!"

The quill in front of them turned into a long, thin, wooden stick. Severus felt his stomach cramp. "I…"

"It is quite easy," said Professor McGonagall firmly, tapping the stick with her wand again, which made it turn into a quill again. "You don't even need the 'one, two, three' bridge. Just pronounce the spell properly. The wand movement was fine."

But Severus was still staring at the place from which the stick had just disappeared.

"Mr. Snape," McGonagall said impatiently, "what is it?"

Something inside Severus gave a soft cry.

"Baculo," whispered Skein's voice again, louder than before. "Baculo! Bend over! I'll teach you! Accio cane! Bend over, I said! You will count!"

When McGonagall's hand touched his neck (softly, granted, but with a certain supportive firmness), Severus felt his surroundings go entirely black. He suddenly was no longer in control of his body or his mind…

* * *

"I think I am getting positively sick of students coming in with this kind of injury, don't you agree?"

Madame Pomfrey's voice was never as quiet as you might have expected from a nurse who was standing in the middle of an infirmary.

"I agree that what this looks like is not suitable for a modern society," came Professor McGonagall's tired voice, "but I am afraid I have neither the time nor the intention of discussing this matter here, at this time of the night. I will come back when he is well again. And don't you allow him to skive off lessons tomorrow. I expect to see him in Transfiguration – and to be punctual. You can tell him that."

Severus opened his eyes.

"Professor?" he asked, more out of reflex than a desire to talk. "Professor McGonagall?"

There was a brief pause. Two voices exchanged a few, whispering words, and after that, the deputy headmistress approached Severus's bed with a somewhat more concerned look than her voice had given away only minutes before.

"How do you feel?" she enquired.

"Good," mumbled the boy. What had happened?

"You had… an accident," said the professor quietly. "There is something… wrong with your mind. Something neither Madame Pomfrey nor I can quite put a finger on."

"I'm not mad!" Severus protested. "Who said…"

"No one said you are, Mr. Snape," replied Professor McGonagall tiredly. "However, something is clearly wrong. You fainted in my office, do you remember? You react to a mere touching of your neck as though you were about to be subjected to a horrible curse, which is a little… no, which is _far too much_ like the way your father used to react to the same procedure, only for what I hope were different reasons from yours…" The words suddenly seemed to pour out of the black-haired witch without her being able to restrain herself. "Mr. Snape… would you please tell me that you are not afraid of a stick and an adult as soon as you are inside an office?"

There was a small, but meaningful break.

"No," said Severus firmly, almost sharply, after a small while. "I am not afraid."

The deputy headmistress heaved a very perceptible breath. "Good," she said, smiling. "I'd suspected – for a moment there I thought… I was worried…"

"There is no need to worry about me!" Skein remarked, folding his arms across his chest while leaning back on Severus's pillow. "Professor," Severus added quickly. "I mean to say… I am just simply not… it's not that I actually fainted. I was more… I was absent, you see?"

Another pause occurred, in which the deputy headmistress gave her youngest third-year an extremely scrutinising look. "I think you ought to catch some sleep now," she said quietly. "I do not need you to give me a justification of your behaviour, but I need Madame Pomfrey to have a look at your physical condition to make sure everything is basically in order. Other than that, I think you ought to concentrate on your classes now – and on the upcoming exams. Have you been successful with your revision so far?"

"Well, yes…" Severus felt a little undecided what to reply to this. Surely the professor was not talking about Transfiguration? She knew how far he had come – or not come.

Professor McGonagall nodded and left. There was nothing more to discuss.

"She is trouble," Skein remarked. "Always meddling in affairs that are none of her business. What is she going on about?" – "I think she means well," replied Severus quietly. "Plus, she's the only one who can get me through the Transfiguration exam in June." – "Why did you faint?" Skein enquired curiously, probing Severus's neck. Severus recoiled. "Don't! I'm fine! I was… I don't like that spell, okay? And I just, don't like remedials. There is nothing more to it!" – "Yeeah, sure," sneered Skein. His expression was becoming increasingly unpleasant. "Why don't you just admit to her that you are afraid of the office?" – "I'm not!" Severus tried to sit up, unsuccessfully. "Besides, it is none of your business!" – "You are weak!" Skein teased. "And you know that if she ever finds out she'll despise you and stop trying to help. If she knew you aren't prepared to take responsibility for your actions, just imagine how she'd react… how she'd hate you." – "I HATE _YOU_!" Severus suddenly flared up. "I can't stand to look you in the face! You don't know what you're talking about! You don't know me at all, and still you judge me as though I'd allowed you to! You think I need you? I am going to be powerful! More powerful than any of them! More powerful than father! And _then_ you'll see! They'll all see!" – "You think you don't need me, do you?" whispered Skein dangerously. "You think you are powerful without me? Who is going to help you out all the time then? Who is going to think of witty replies for you? Helping you with your essays? You know I can see what people are thinking and that you can't do it without me. You are _never_," and at this he leaned just a little closer towards Severus's face, "going to be powerful without me. You _need_ me!"

Severus was lost for words and there was a small pause.

"I don't need you," he whispered eventually. "Go away, Skein." – "Don't," was the simple reply. "You know that I will." – "Yes," replied Severus coldly. "This is the end."

There was another silence, which lasted longer than the first. The hospital wing suddenly seemed dark and empty. Severus glanced at the lengthy window-shaped shadows on the floor, created by a waning moon's aggressive beams.

"Skein?" he whispered into the darkness.

There was no reply.


	22. January Fading

**January Fading**

"The colonel is out," a tired Robertson's voice informed Minerva through her office's feeble fire. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"No," muttered the deputy headmistress, resentfully watching her last logs being eaten by flames – unnecessarily, as Lance Snape seemed to have disappeared to Africa once again, doing his job. "Yes," she then suddenly decided. "Tell him that it is going to be the first Wednesday of the month next week. And that I'll expect him for tea at precisely four o'clock in the afternoon."

"Pardon me, Professor," replied Robertson tiredly and his face came into view for a second, "I seem to remember your regular meetings have not been as regular as they used to for quite some time now."

"Yes," replied Minerva sourly. "Which is exactly the reason why I wish you to remind him of this month's first Wednesday. He has forgotten our meetings quite a bit too frequently as of late. Oh, and please let him know that his son just handed in an outstanding essay on python scale structure, will you?"

The Robertson confirmed and then vanished. Minerva rubbed her face, feeling a little tired all of a sudden. Luckily, the third years' essays were not due back until mid-February. She had taken an instant look at Severus's however, not daring to hope that he had averted his complete failure of the subject and the possibility of having to repeat the year. She had been suitably surprised, however. Not only had young Snape seemed to come up with a decent structure for a change, he had also apparently taken the time of supplying himself with a written permission for the restricted section of the library and borrowed the book she had suggested in class a week earlier for people particularly curious about the topic at hand.

Perhaps she had underestimated the boy after all.

Remedial lessons had come to a temporary stop. What with the beginning of the new year, Minerva had found herself spending more and more time at home trying to keep her mother from ripping off her uncle's head and to remain up-to-date on the most recent developments concerning his liaison with a Muggle girl…

A knock on the door pulled her out of her contemplations.

"Come in," she said sharply, snapping back into her teacher-mode. The person who entered was plump and wearing a big smile on her pink face. The room seemed to light up whenever Mandragora Sprout entered it, Minerva noticed, not indignantly, and pointed her friend to a chair before settling down herself again, quite thankfully that it was not a student who had decided to visit her with one or the other teenage problem tonight.

"Been trying to call your _friend_ again?" the herbologist enquired.

"My particular friend, yes," Minerva replied darkly, rubbing her face. "It really frightens me to think that he has gone back to work already. I seem to remember him mentioning that he worked all weekend."

"Average job requirements," shrugged Professor Sprout lightly. "Don't you do weekends?"

"Yes, but that's different," replied her colleague sourly. "If you decide to become a teacher, you know and accept it's a full-time job right from the start. Particularly at Hogwarts."

"And as a soldier… you don't?" Mandy grinned.

"Well, I certainly see your point," sighed the deputy headmistress. "As usual. But I should still like to see him take a rest for once. He is making things more difficult than they would have to be. For himself AND his son."

"Severus is here at the moment, is he not?" her colleague wondered. Minerva stared at her for a full minute before realising what was wrong.

"Since when have the two of you been on first name terms? He is not in your house, I seem to recall?"

"I am not calling him that, obviously," assured her colleague hurriedly. "But I do think of my students as good friends. As I hope they do with me."

"You want them to call you Mandy?"

"I gave them my second name," said the Herbology witch proudly. "Thus I differentiate between good friends and people who are going to be good friends after school…"

"You let them call you Pomona?" Minerva cut in again, finding this rather hard to believe.

"Obviously not," replied the herbologist good-naturedly. "What would the examiners say? But I told them they can think of me as such."

"How do you maintain authority, I wonder…" Minerva muttered, not really expecting an answer.

"Respect," Mandy replied, nevertheless.

"Yes, and that," said her friend tiredly.

"I mean _I_ show _them_ some respect and they usually return the favour," Mandy explained.

"I know," said Minerva. "We have had this discussion before – or a similar one in any case."

"Yes, I remember. You were going on about my teaching methods."

"Well, I will reprimand every colleague who sends a bunch of first years through the dungeons unsupervised."

"They were looking for moping mosses," her friend replied sulkily. "But I appreciate that you are quite nitpicky when it comes to rules. I know you mean well. And I respect your decisions."

"Why, thank you, seeing as I am technically your _superior_…"

The conversation continued for a while, containing varying degrees of bickering. After a while, however, Mandy seemed to decide that they had now reached the moment most suitable for her to reveal her true motivation for climbing several staircases up to her colleague's office.

"Your uncle is quite happy, is he?"

Minerva sighed, took her glasses off and pretended to clean them, throwing a help-seeking look at her fireplace, which was still lit and filling the room with a deep, red-golden shimmer. "I assume he is," she replied.

"Has anyone been able to get anything out of Maude yet?" her friend enquired. "She was obliviated, was she?"

"She lost her memory," said Minerva quietly. "I don't know how. No one does. Uncle Angus has rented a small flat near the West coast and is trying to sort things out from there. Maude seems to recognise him. At least they are spending a great deal of time together, chatting and who knows what."

"I think that's wonderful and very romantic," Mandy remarked, following her colleague's gaze into the flames. They were sitting together for a while, neither of them speaking or, indeed, moving at all. Minerva felt unable to even try and digest everything that had happened before and during the holidays on top of her various essays and the matter of young Snape, which this time, she resolved, was not going to slip her mind as it had so many times before.

"You are thinking of your colonel," Mandy noted, as though having read her friend's mind. The deputy headmistress blinked and frowned.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Well, I know you've spent some time making up your mind about him," replied the herbologist slyly. "And you would. The matter is rather delicate."

"Yes," said Minerva darkly. "You'll imagine that I have no idea how to address it."

"You are going to talk to him?"

Disbelievingly, Minerva noticed how her best friend's face lit up at the idea of her mentioning young Snape's strange behaviour to his father. "No need to get this excited about the matter," she said sharply. "Do you think this is entertaining?"

"I must admit I do," said Mandy, politely trying to look suitably subdued. "And exciting, too, oh yes. I thought you were never going to make up your mind, to be honest. It's been some time, after all."

Minerva stared at her chubby friend in confusion and disbelief. They were not talking about the same thing. Could not be, she now remembered, since Mandy had not witnessed the situation in her office during young Snape's remedial lesson. For a second, she considered explaining what she had actually been referring to, but then changed her mind. It was not fair towards the boy to let the entire staff know his problems – if, indeed, there were problems of the kind Minerva anticipated.

"I am not going to ask him to marry me," she thus said sourly, assuming that this was what her colleague had in mind. The disappointment on Professor Sprout's face confirmed her assumption.

"And a shame it is," came a sudden voice from her fireplace, "as much as it was twenty years go."

In the same instant, Minerva's wand, safely stored away in the pockets of her robes, began vibrating to announce the arrival of a floo-comer.

"Lance," she said without turning, "it is polite to knock."

"I was under the impression," replied the colonel, stepping out of the fireplace, brushing some dust and ashes from the black trousers of his officer's uniform, "that you wished to see me."

Minerva turned. "And so I did," she said quietly. "It is good of you to take the time and come over. I was not sure whether Robertson would remember to pass my message on."

"He is trustworthy," the Snape replied. "And highly reliable."

"You know the problems I have with him," Minerva said darkly. "Mandy, if we could talk later…"

"Of course," her friend said quickly, raising from her seat, not without flashing the colonel a meaningful grin. "You will want to be a lone," she observed, edging a little closer to the seven foot man. "If not, however, well… you know where to find me."

The Snape started making excuses as to why it would be impossible for him to stop by the greenhouses after his conversation with the deputy headmistress, but Mandy did not wait for him to turn her down.

"I'll speak to you later," she said to Minerva and disappeared, closing the door behind her with a thud. The colonel frowned.

"Sit down," Minerva told him, pointing at the chair Mandy had just left. "I need to speak to you, as you have rightly guessed. Did you bring some time with you?"

"I have an hour," replied the colonel.

"You are not making your recruits run around in circles on the drill pitch in M'bwa in the middle of the night, surely?" the deputy headmistress enquired, throwing a doubtful look at a small clock on her desk.

"No," replied her opposite darkly. "But I shall have to be in bed by half past twelve."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "I don't assume someone is sending you?"

"I am sending myself," explained the Snape. "If I don't get at least four hours, I tend to lose concentration in dangerous situations."

"I take it there are no immediate threats to the wizarding empire at the moment, though?" his opposite enquired, her lips forming a thin smile.

"Just the drill at the moment," confirmed the soldier. "What is it you wish to speak to me about?"

Minerva gave the tall man a thoughtful look. Here he was, Lance Snape. Descendant of an old wizarding line. By pure accident also foster father to a son who had no idea that he had inherited his name (though the same as Lance's) from a Muggle not worth mentioning, and his physical features from a mother who had been too scared to even admit his presence. And now – a widower. Most certainly under the impression that the only person to blame for Virbia's death was he alone. What was she thinking, even considering the possibility that he was keeping up his father's habit of citing his sons to the office whenever he was in a bad mood…

"How is Severus?" Lance asked as Minerva made no indication that she was going to start speaking today.

"He is doing very well," the deputy headmistress replied, trying not to let her inner struggle show. "As I told Robertson to convey to you. Did he not?"

"He must have forgotten," Snape replied.

"He has handed in a remarkable essay on python scale structure," Minerva said smilingly. "Would you like to take a look?"

"Only if you think it appropriate," the soldier replied, his expression unchanging. Minerva sighed and got up.

"No need for such extreme politeness," she said softly. "I know you are interested. Of course I think it appropriate. Indeed, I think it necessary that you should hear and see some good news for a change. I shall give him an A, most probably, which would be a first for him – in Transfiguration at least." She started browsing the first years' essays, looking for the one with "Severus Snape" on top.

"I must say I consider myself surprised," said the boy's father now, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his massive chest. "He seemed to have severe difficulties particular with reptiles during the holidays. I cannot remember the exact topic he wrote about, but his Transfiguration work was not satisfying in the least."

"Oh, but this essay is," Minerva replied absently, browsing her papers. "Ah, here we go. 'On the structure of python scales' – his handwriting is much more legible on this one, too."

She handed the colonel a piece of parchment, which had several feet of detailed descriptions of scales on it, small, but not miniscule. The Snape read.

"I was going to talk to you about something rather important, by the way," Minerva began hesitantly while her partner in conversation was still scanning the essay. "I am just not very sure where to begin. It is something that occurred during the last remedial lesson I…"

She was interrupted by some restrained laughter and surprised muttering of her old friend. Lance, very clearly, was not listening at all, but deeply engrossed in his son's writing.

"Fantastic," he muttered, visibly amused. "It is rather witty, too. Look at this – 'it is possible to envisage the process backwards, of course, but the result would look bromeliad-like and naturally the resulting creature would not survive for two seconds'. It is too bad you will have to mark this as a digression. He does have a point."

Minerva did not reply. Her gaze was fixed at Lance's expression, which, for once, was not one of stern severity, but lined with small wrinkles around the eyes and his black beard. With a jolt in her stomach, Minerva realised that she had rarely ever seen him this happy.

"So," said the soldier, "what was it you were going to say? I am sorry, my son's wit distracted me a little there."

He was proud. He was bursting with pride for the boy he had always considered his only son. Minerva heaved a deep breath and then put the essay back where it belonged, using the opportunity to hide her worried face from him.

"Nothing, really," she said eventually. "To be honest, I was going to remind you of our meeting next week. My mother misses talking to you."

"I sincerely hope she is not the only one," said the soldier good-naturedly. "But I am afraid we shall have to postpone our meeting a little. Next Wednesday is the date of the generals' meeting in Central and I was invited in order to…" He broke off, seeming unsure whether to continue or not. Minerva had little trouble guessing, however.

"To further your career?" she guessed.

"Amongst other things," the Snape replied meekly, looking nevertheless genuinely pleased with himself. "You will understand, of course, that this is a matter of vital importance…"

Minerva nodded, regarding her old friend with familiar affection. "I understand."

They parted a little later, agreeing to contact each other about the meeting, both well aware that neither would take the first step.


	23. Studies

**Studies**

"…so they _would _have used carpets. I mean, _I_ would have used them. Broom activity is always, always recorded within the Forest. And, quite honestly, carpets are much more comfortable, if you have a hostage."

"It seems particularly wise to announce your feelings about this matter to the entire library," Malfoy said quietly, frowning at his cousin's incensed recount. "Why don't you ask Madame Pince for a voice-strengthening spell so the entire school can hear what you have to say on the subject?"

Bellatrix opened her mouth to reply something, but thought the better of it and turned, instead, to her younger sister, who was sitting a little away from them, studying a book on wizarding history for her final exam.

"Cissy," she said in a slightly lower voice than before, "pst. Hand me your notes."

Her younger sister sighed, as though for the umpteenth time today. "Why? It's not as though you weren't in _seventh_ year. What good…"

"Just hand them over!" snarled her sister indignantly. Lucius gave his inkwell a bored tap.

"Fine!" scowled the younger girl, shoving some of her parchments towards her older sister. "But I really don't know…"

"I hate making notes," said Bellatrix nonchalantly. "It distracts me from learning."

"It is designed to help you learn," Lucius remarked.

"Well, it distracts me," replied his cousin sourly. "I can't write and listen at the same time."

"You're supposed to learn how to do it by practising it," observed Lucius. "If you've never tried, no wonder you are unable to catch up now."

"There is no _sense_ in it!" Bellatrix snapped, suddenly as loudly as before when she had spoken about the Knights' attack, so that suspicions concerning her and Lucius's involvement with it would be crushed once and for all. "Where will I ever need that particular skill? I do not need to practice multi-tasking. I am a witch, for Merlin's sake. That covers the matter entirely."

"Witches are no better at multi-tasking than Muggle women," remarked a boy's voice near to where Lucius was sitting. Three heads turned, including Narcissa's.

"No," replied Bellatrix dangerously upon recognising which sassy third-year had entered their conversation, "but witches are a lot better at it than wizards, young Snape. You would know all about that, of course."

"Severus, what are you doing here?" enquired Lucius earnestly, feeling he ought to live up to his Head Boy badge a little before leaving Hogwarts once and for all. "As far as I know, your schedule doesn't feature any free time this afternoon, does it?"

There was a small and awkward pause.

"Flying's off," the younger boy then replied, fully confident that this time his lie would not be detected. Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"Like last week?" Bellatrix enquired. "And the week before?"

"I was there the week before!" Severus protested. "That was before the Quidditch match! I fell off only twice!"

"You are still skiving off," Lucius observed. "Why?"

"I'm not," Severus said defensively. "I just… I am the only third-year still attending the regular lessons, and…"

"I completely understand that," Bellatrix said smugly, leaning back. Lucius frowned at her.

"Don't encourage him."

"I'm not," said his cousin. "But I can sort of see why it would be embarrassing for him to attend flying lessons now… with all the first years. He was the only one in his year not to have passed the test after ten months of lessons, am I right?"

"The only person in five or six years, actually," Lucius replied.

"And the first pureblood in a century," Narcissa contributed. "Probably."

Lucius noticed that at this, Severus's face assumed a somewhat pink colour and the boy started rummaging in his bag, probably for books. He threw a questioning look at his cousin Bellatrix, who had started searching her own bag and was now producing a small bag that contained several items, none of which Lucius could identify with certainty, except for a small mirror, which the lanky witch held several inches away from her face and then squinted at, probably to test if she was still present.

This action seemed to meet not much favour with her younger sister, who discovered her sister's action only moments later. For a second, it seemed as though she would merely scowl at Bellatrix. The older girl had taken out what looked like a small, black pen now, pointed it at her eyes, and carefully blackened the area around them. The action, in itself, however, seemed to be so familiar that the younger girl eventually let her hand drop flatly on the table, making everyone in her closer reach jump.

"_Bella_!"

"What?!"

"Hello? School rules?" Narcissa hissed. "No everyday make-up!"

"Sod the school rules," Bellatrix remarked, not breaking her concentration. "I want to see the teacher who'll reprimand me for a bit of eye shadow. Besides, you are a little too keen on rules, my dear. I've noticed that before."

"That's because they are there for a reason!"

"I knew you'd say that."

Lucius turned his eyes on Severus again.

"Go back to the commons," he said. "Go to bed. I'll let Madame Hooch know that you are feeling unwell."

"I was gonna revise a little…" the boy said quickly. "And I can't take this book…"

Lucius inclined his head. "Basic Legilimency? _Severus_! You are not _revising_!"

"Revise is such a strong word," the boy said quickly. "But I am broadening my horizon!"

"Legilimency is not for you!" Lucius hisses, trying instinctively to exclude others from the conversation. "I have told you before that only fools and extreme geniuses play around with it. Will you put this crap out of your head and concentrate on your homework? What about your essays?"

"I finished them!" snarled the boy. "And yes, even the stupid one on stupid reptile transfiguration!"

Lucius grinned. "Are you still having your little power struggle with the deputy headmistress?"

"It's _not_ a power struggle!" Severus hissed. "I am merely trying to keep up with her nearly impossible demands!"

"Is she still giving you remedial lessons?" Lucius enquired.

"No," snapped the younger boy. "She stopped. Said that I obviously didn't need them any more after I handed in my last essay. Said I had got the hang now."

Lucius stared in surprise.

"Seriously? That's good news!"

"Yeah," snapped Severus, slamming his book on the table. He got up. "I know none of you thought I could do it, but there you are! That's just the first step of many!"

And he strutted towards the library entrance, not bothering to put away the book he had just occupied himself with. Lucius gave it a thoughtful look and then opened a random page, up to which Severus had clearly not come yet.

"…_although difficulties can arise when the inherited talent is too great_," the first paragraph read. "_The young witch or wizard might find themselves confronted with serious problems of concentration, mood swings, and even schizophrenic tendencies. The skill of invading people's minds has been known to manifest itself in the form of a human being, often not unlike the young wizard or witch, who cannot be seen or heard by other people, but who is nevertheless there, as Bagnold proves in _1001 Wonders of the Modern Wizarding World _(1941). This person will sometimes take control of the young witch's or wizard's actions, often, however, merely comment them. More and more, the young wizard's or witch's personality will split in two, with his or her personified Legilimency taking all commonly desired traits away, leaving a very weak and entirely helpless human being behind, who will quite often be unable to make a decision of any kind for her- or himself ever again._

_To oppose this very unfortunate effect, it is suggested by Bagnold (1941, 24 – 49) that basic Occlumency and possibly even first steps of Legilimency should be taught to all aspiring wizards or witches, regardless their talent, to enable them to recognise the symptoms at an early stage. In a worst case scenario, the young witch or wizard will separate emotionally from their personified skill and…"_

Lucius slammed the book firmly shut and returned it to what he supposed was its previous place within the library shelf next to where Severus had settled down.

"What's up?" Bellatrix enquired, whose face by now was heavily painted, though not unbecomingly. "Found anything else you haven't revised for yet?"

"I have covered most areas now," Lucius mumbled. "More than you, I daresay."

"I don't need to revise," Bellatrix grinned. "There's natural talent here. I'll just…"

And she went on explaining the various ways in which she planned to impress the examiners. Lucius gave her interested looks and the occasional nod, but could not help wondering if Severus was, once again, getting himself into something he would not be able to control. Legilimency sounded a dangerous field, although considering that most words of caution seemed to regard the 'highly talented witch or wizard' there was, of course, little chance that Severus fell into the category of high-risk patients.

* * *

Severus, meanwhile, had made his way down to the dungeons, as he had been told. Lucius was an ass, of course, but he had a point assuming that Severus's skiving would remain less suspicious if he was actually to be found in his bed instead of the library. He strolled through the dark, vaguely moist underground corridors of the castle trying to look paler than usual and a little sick. Just in case.

When he turned round the corner towards Slytherin house and Professor Fumes's office, he suddenly bumped into the one person who would not believe stories of sickness or unwell being when it came to his flying lessons. He suddenly stood face-to-face with his Transfiguration teacher.

Professor McGonagall regarded the boy before her for a few moments, looking quite surprised at his sudden appearance, before finally making up her mind to speak.

"Mr Snape…"

"Professor, I…"

There was a second's break.

"Yes?" enquired the deputy headmistress curiously. "You what? What is it, Mr Snape?"

"I don't feel well…" Severus said feebly. His teacher looked worried. Good.

"So I realise," she said quietly. "Did anything happen? Where do you come from?"

"The lib-… outside," Severus corrected himself quickly. Professor McGonagall frowned. "We had Flying," he continued to explain hurriedly. "And I… I was suddenly sick… I…"

"You missed your Flying lesson again?" the deputy headmistress sighed. Severus pointedly watched the tips of his toes.

"I'm sorry, Professor…"

"Not again!" said Professor McGonagall quietly, her voice sounding almost resigned, though not particularly angry. Severus suddenly realised how terribly factual she could be when she wanted. Straight to the point. And, of course, always right.

"It wasn't about… I didn't wanna skive off or anything," he said quickly. "I just felt…"

"…unwell. You told me," the black-haired woman cut in. "But you'll need to learn flying. Soon. Examinations are in four months time and you have a serious chance to receive extremely satisfactory grades this time. Are you going to spoil this by failing your flying exam yet again? Or worse, not turn up? You know what your father would say to that, do you not?"

Severus felt his hands cling to the inside of his pockets. He was still not meeting her gaze. "Yes, Professor."

"Would you like me to organise remedial flying less-…"

"No!"

He had known she would suggest it and resented the very thought from the beginning.

"Really, Professor! I am fine. I'll… Flying's going to be fine. As is the rest of the subjects. I'll continue to improve. Promise."

"Well, your overall attitude has certainly improved," said the professor approvingly. "I am inclined to trust you to take your studies into your hands now. But remember, if you have any problems, come straight to me." She hesitated, just for a second. "Any matter, in fact. If you feel Professor Fumes would be… unable to devote the necessary time to your worries, do not hesitate to come to me instead."

For the first time, Severus dared look up and into her pair of small, dark eyes, which seemed to regard him with rather more worry than usual.

"Yes, Professor," he said hesitantly, unsure what to make of her overly caring attitude. "I'll be sure to remember."

"Good," replied the Transfiguration witch. "Go and have some rest then. If things get worse, don't forget to let Madame Pomfrey know. You know which house-elves to call?"

"I think so," Severus said hesitantly. "Is it… Emmy and Rooter?"

"Those are the two you need," nodded Professor McGonagall. "They'll let the nurse know that something is wrong with you."

She smiled and left. For some odd reason, Severus felt compelled to smile back. He also noticed that for the first time in a long while Skein had not interrupted a conversation involving the deputy headmistress. But, of course, he had not seen the other boy for some time.

Nothing is wrong with me, he thought, trying to discover the deeper sense in these words. The professor meant well, he did not doubt it. However, it would have been nice to discover the exact meaning behind her words. Not for the first time, Severus felt that he missed some of the skills Skein had provided him with. Not a single book on the subject of mind-reading had granted him as much of an insight in what was going on in people's heads as the other boy's occasional remarks or, indeed, directly aimed searches.

Well, there was still time. He would learn. And life without Skein had certainly improved. All his marks were going up, except for Potions, where he had been rather successful for some time, of course. Even Transfiguration was working out, which was surprising to say the least. Severus felt it was partly due to the lack of Skein's constant interruptions and reminders of what would happen if he failed to accomplish his tasks in time and satisfy his teachers' demands – not to mention his father's.

Father… Severus had not thought about him for some time. But, of course, he had never stopped doing research on the Muggle line of what had to be his family. Father had refused to dive into the subject, of course, but Severus preferred not giving up quite so easily. Who was Tobias Snape? No book so far had helped him solve the question. Perhaps this was something to do next week… instead of Flying?


	24. Plans of Resistance

**Plans of Resistance**

On the first Monday of a rainy, and generally quite unpleasant February, all four Gryffindor boys received a not entirely unexpected note during breakfast time, saying that they would be expected in classroom six in the dungeons, which was the one generally referred to as "the thrashing vault".

Neither Sirius nor James seemed particularly concerned about these news, although the former pulled a grimace as he finished his note and shoved the piece of paper as far away from himself as possible to be able to finish his crumpets.

"So they finally made up their mind," he observed darkly. "Why, I would have thought we'd be through by now."

"I bet Fumes had to go a long way to get this through," James replied, munching some toast. "Boy, I'd have liked to hear his rows with Dumbledore. People say the two don't speak at all, at the moment."

"I cannot help but notice," remarked Remus from behind a beaker of pumpkin juice, "that the first day of term in which Dumbledore is not present during breakfast is the exact one where the three of you are cited. Any thoughts on that?"

"I expected it," said Sirius darkly. "You see, when Dumbledore is gone the school and its students are quite unprotected. Fumes will be pressing his advantage."

"There's something inherently evil about that man," muttered Remus.

"We knew we were going to pay for our little trip, though," James shrugged. "We would have been fools to assume that wandering off when the castle was protected like that would not land us in detention."

"Uhm… this isn't detention, though," said Sirius, glowering. "There was a slight chance we'd get around the thrashing vault, at least that's what I thought when Dumbledore introduced all these new rules."

"Is it bad?" Peter suddenly asked, sounding rather quiet and pensive.

"Naaah," said Sirius vaguely, only ever once having been beaten enough to actually regret his actions. "I mean… there's nicer things. But it's not as longwinded as lines. And it's not as boring as Forest trips."

"Forest… but going into the Forbidden Forest is fun!" James protested.

"Well, a thrashing isn't," said Sirius harshly, making to return to his crumpets. Suddenly, however, he caught a quick glimpse of Snape, who had apparently interrupted his meal to watch their conversation for quite some time now.

"He knows," he muttered, throwing a loathing look across the Great Hall to where the black-haired Slytherin was sitting and giving them unabashed, curious looks. "I don't know how he does it, but he always knows things."

"You going on about Snape again?" remarked Remus tiredly.

"Just look at him," Sirius snarled as Snape was finally busying himself with his food again. "Always glancing over – always spying on us. You know what I think? He might be the one who alerted McGonagall to our absence. She hinted something along the line…"

"You're hearing what you want to hear, mate," mumbled Lupin, but his words were lost and trailed off while he was hiding his expression behind his drink.

"So," said Peter eventually, "we're going down, aren't we? All of us? Together, I mean?"

"Obviously," said James off-hand, helping himself to more orange juice. "And you know what? I think I'll have a quick look in the library during lunchtime to see if I can find any spells to thwart teachers in the thrashing vault. What d'you think?"

"I'll come," said Peter excitedly.

"I'll help," Remus offered, as usual.

Sirius looked undecided, but nodded eventually, feeling that he did not want to be left out. "Dunno if it'll work though," he said critically. "Fumes doesn't look as though this is a first time for him."

"All the more challenging then," James replied with an off-hand laugh.

Two tedious double lessons later, the four Marauders were once again in the library, as far away from Madame Pince's sight as possible, buried in books on the topic of pain aversion. James had even brought his copy of "Popular Pranks – A Student's Guide to Jinxing Their Teacher", but it turned out that most of the spells mentioned in it were going to get you into the thrashing vault rather than out of it. Remus pointed out an enchantment that would befuddle the teacher's mind and have them think they had punished you already, but upon testing the incantation on Peter, it turned out that the magic behind it was neither strong enough nor did it offer any alternative explanation for the victim.

"He's just standing there," James observed, his wand still in his hand, watching his friend gaze around in obvious confusion. "That doesn't seem enough to me."

"Wormtail," mumbled Sirius softly, who was standing with his back to Madame Pince's desk as to cover up their doing magic without having their actions approved from her side first. "How many fingers am I holding?"

"Why am I here?" Peter asked faintly, ignoring the Black's outstretched hands. "What are we doing here?"

"It's no use," said James critically and Remus started browsing the book he was holding for new options, looking glum.

"You sure you wanna go through with this?" he asked cautiously, not wanting to be subjected to another of James's fits of anger.

"I… yeah. I wanna show Fumes that he really is no match for us," replied the Potter, less harshly than expected. "I mean, don't you? He's a stupid git, who has been pestering us for the greatest part of the school year, always taking points whenever he pleases, always favouring his own students… He always picks on us wherever we go, just because we're Gryffindors. Typical, of course. They're all like that, stupid Ex-Slytherin teachers. I hear Professor Babbling is one, too."

"She's all right, though," Lupin mumbled.

"Fumes, however, isn't," James replied firmly. "He is evil. And he can't teach properly."

"Plus, he gave you a C in your first assignment," observed Peter.

"Which was why we chose him as our no. 1 enemy over Professor Vector," contributed Remus.

"Yeah," grinned James. "That, too."

It was not until the end of the lunch break that all four boys decided on a cushioning cham, half-hearted because this was not something any of them deemed undetectable, but glad at having found something to go on with. James kept his legs slightly apart while walking through the corridor leading towards the Transfiguration classroom, looking a little like a heavy weight athlete who had too many muscles around his private region. Sirius, who had aimed his own charm a little more comfortably, continued to jab his wand in the general direction of James's legs testing if the spell was faulty in any other aspect, but the enchantment was essentially in place – James did not take any notice of his friend's attempts.

Transfiguration, to everyone's surprise, was not at all its usual puddle of boredom. Indeed, Professor McGonagall seemed to think that it was time to recompense everyone for an exceptionally work-loaded, theory-filled term.

"We are a little ahead the schedule," she said with a small smile playing around her thin lips, "and your work seems overall very satisfying indeed. We will thus busy ourselves with a piece of transfiguration, which has made history as the single most effective spell to thwart a magic fire cast in a duel. This is an interdisciplinary topic, of course, as you will be able to use this bit of magic in Defence Against the Dark Arts, whenever your opponent attacks you with fire. I hope, of course, that this is a scenario you will only encounter in controlled circumstances during Defence practice within Hogwarts walls."

She went on explaining how, with the right kind of transfiguration spell, a creature could be conjured out of any magical fire, which would block the destructive power of the flames and could more easily evaporated than the actual element. The "Ashwinder", the Marauders and their classmates learned, was a thin, grey serpent with glowing, red eyes, which needed to be held under strict control once created because its eggs had been known to set entire buildings on fire.

"I'd know what I'd do with a couple of glowing eggs," James muttered into Sirius's ear, who snorted and made a rude gesture under his desk.

"Unfortunately," informed them Professor McGonagall, not oblivious of her two most frequent troublemakers' voices, "we shall not be able to practice this spell in pairs, as it is far too dangerous to ask several people at once to conjure a magic fire within a classroom. You will step forward, one by one, and try your luck with a small fire I shall be holding in my left hand." She clutched her wand in her right yet more firmly as if to confirm that the basic procedure was essentially safe. "I must ask you," she then continued, "to evaporate the Ashwinder immediately once you bring it to life, no matter how pleased or surprised you might be of having managed the transfiguration process. Potter, you will be the first to start this experiment. The incantation is "Transfigo Ex Flamma" – add "Viperam" if you are not entirely certain of how an Ashwinder is composed in your head. You know how to produce snakes and the animal created will almost automatically turn into an Ashwinder if you do not decide on a species beforehand – because of the fire. And don't forget to roll the r, or you'll produce a very funny being indeed."

James, by now, had slouched to the front of the class. He liked Transfiguration as such, but it would not hurt to show Professor just how bored he was by having to transfigure something into something else all over again, all the time, twice a week. He held up his wand, yawned, waited for the middle-aged witch to ignite a small fire in her left hand, and then spoke the incantation.

"_Transfigo Ex Flamma_!"

Nothing happened.

"_Transfigo Ex Flamma… _uhm… _Viperam_!" he attempted again, forcing himself to focus some of his energy to the subject at hand. Again, nothing happened.

"It seems, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, "that you are experiencing a case of lack of attention. One more attempt, please, and a proper one this time, or I shall be forced to take a point of my own house."

James frowned. "_Transfigo Ex Flamma Viperam_!" he snarled at the lambent flames in his teacher's hand, shaking his wand just a little to produce any effect at all.

Again, however, nothing happened.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall, looking disappointed. "That's a point from Gryffindor then, because I know you could do this if you didn't believe actual school work beneath you. Sit down."

A snigger from the ranks of Slytherins beside the window caused James to jerk his head around and glare. Professor McGonagall, as usual, acted before the situation could slip her control, however.

"Mr. Snape," she said crisply, "I am sure you will show somewhat more focus than your classmate? You are next."

The laughter on Snape's face died away, James noticed with some satisfaction, and a look of supreme unease spread over it as he crept away from his place and to the front of the class. McGonagall's gaze softened a little when the boy raised his pitch black wand – was it ebony, James wondered – towards her left hand.

"_Tr-Transfigo Ex Flamma Viperam_!" Snape said quietly, not entirely certain of what he was doing after a moment's consideration.

There was a small hiss, which made the students in the first row jump back. McGonagall's hand seemed to vanish for a moment, as it was clouded in thick, grey smoke. Snape coughed and Sirius kicked James under their desk, who had been examining his wand instead of paying attention to what was happening at the front.

"Well done, Mr. Snape!" Professor McGonagall cheered, looking down at a pair of dangerously glowing eyes in her hand. "Now, evaporation, please!"

_"Evanesco_," Snape said obediently and the snake vanished, along with half the professor's middle finger. She cringed, but restored the missing flesh with a few taps and muttered incantations.

"Thank you, Mr. Snape," she said and James got the impression that she was almost smiling. "That is ten points to Slytherin for mastering this spell at first attempt. Nott, you are next. And please do not meddle with my anatomy. Constant vanishing has rather unpleasant side-effects."


	25. Crime and Punishment

**Crime and Punishment**

Minerva McGonagall left her office a little after her grandfather's clock had chimed seven times and headed downstairs towards the kitchens. There was only one bit of duty left today, which concerned Hogwarts's least seen and acknowledged part of the staff. The House-Elves were always pleased to have her as a guest, Minerva had discovered, but when it came to listening to her suggestions concerning their working conditions they often turned a deaf ear in spite of the headmaster's high hopes for changes brought about by constant repetition.

Thus, when Minerva tickled the pear on the portrait in the basement and entered the well-known realms of the Hogwarts kitchen vault, she was not really looking forward to the next thirty minutes, in which she was going to lecture the school's little helpers on contemporary employment law.

"How are you today?" she asked one of the older elves upon having entered and been offered tea and bisquits. She motioned him to sit with her, but the creature squeaked and bowed and vanished from her sight before she could insist. Minerva sighed.

"We should talk some more about the question of holidays," she said to no one in particular. The few elves who were not pretending to work made uneasy faces.

"The deputy headmistress means well," one of them said slowly, "but she ought not insult…"

"It's _not_ an insult!" Minerva replied forcefully, willing herself to remain calm on the outside. She had been through this. Countless times. All the situation required was patience. "It is an offer for better working conditions. And occasional breaks."

Again, no one seemed to be taking in what she said. Minerva sighed.

"Listen," she said quietly, "you don't have to give your labour away just like that - _and _on the groundsthat you are not human. You are entitled to the same rights as we are, even if half the wizarding population regards this as a wrong decision by the current Minister for Magic. The problem is that we cannot free you from the bounds of servitude if you insist on doing this work without compensation. There is no law in the world that will be able to back you up if you won't even start standing up for yourselves…"

"It is a great honour to be working for a wonderful wizard such as Albus Dumbledore," one of the elves said now, seeming a bit bolder than the rest of them. "The headmaster is great and good and would surely disapprove of his deputy headmistress coming down here to tell us all to leave."

"But that's not what I'm here for…" Minerva protested. The elf interrupted.

"Surely, the deputy headmistress has other, much more important things to do than to come down to the kitchens every other day telling the elves things they already know."

"You are right," muttered Minerva glumly. "She certainly does. Still, it is important for you to realise…"

"If the deputy headmistress would like to help," the elf now continued, "she ought to spend her time working against people who make her students unhappy."

"Like who?" said Minerva quickly. Her eyebrows contracted into a single, straight line. It was quite unusual especially for Hogwarts House-Elves to notice much of what was going on around them. They always played a little dim-witted, Minerva knew, and only at times of great need showed that they actually saw and heard more than most witches and wizards. They rarely discussed things beyond their daily duties and almost never advised their masters on what to do. "Who do you mean?" she thus added, her interest picked.

The elf seemed reluctant.

"Paggy not like to talk ill of Hogwarts staff," he mumbled. "Paggy only observes students coming here talking about things, sometimes crying…"

"Who was crying?" Minerva said harshly.

"The little Slytherin third-year," Paggy replied, looking a lot more uneasy than only a minute ago. He seemed to have realised that he was entering dangerous realms and the ancient habit of his kind to punish themselves when they were betraying the person they considered their master seemed about to kick in. "The one who always comes here…"

"Who?" said Minerva sharply, thinking that she most probably knew the answer.

"Snape," said the elf after a long moment's struggle, and then kicked his own shin with the other foot. Minerva clenched her fists, as to keep herself from jumping up. She had long found out that House-Elves did not take too kindly to being kept from their rightful punishment.

"Severus Snape," she said loudly, as to distract the creature from its torment. "Was he here today?"

Some of the other elves confirmed this, watching their fellow worker punish himself without apparent sympathy.

"Young Slytherin very afraid of thrashing vault," one of the female cooks now muttered, earning herself exceedingly reproachful looks from her fellow workers. "He never admits to it, of course, but we elves sense his fear. Even if he is all alone now."

Minerva tried to make sense of what the elf was saying.

"The thrashing vault?" she said quickly, her voice low and concentrated. "Tonight?"

Several elves nodded.

"Alexander…" Minerva growled, clenching her fists again, this time in boiling anger. "Oh no, you won't!" And she rose from her seat.

"I thank you for the excellent tea," she told the House-Elves while approaching the portrait hole leading to the dungeon floor. "I shall be back in a few days, most probably. If not, next week."

And followed by several highly insecure looks, she exited the kitchens, hurrying towards "classroom six", which was situated behind a corner a little further down the corridor.

Even before she entered the oblong room she could hear that there were people inside. Almost breaking into a run, the headmistress crossed the doorstep the exact moment when Sirius Black let out a high-pitched scream. Minerva's thoughts were racing, blindly searching for a way to deal with the scene before her.

"Alexander!" she called, well aware that by current wizarding school law he was as yet perfectly entitled to continue what he was currently doing. "A word, if you please!"

The man straightened up, his forehead slightly sweaty, and – she could not believe it – smiled.

"Minerva," he said darkly. "As you can see, I am a little indisposed at the moment. Could this wait until later?"

"Afraid not," Minerva replied, her eyes gliding over Black, who was standing bent over one of the old students' benches a few feet away from her, not daring to move or breathe. The other boys were standing a little further away, cowering against the stone walls of the oblong vault. There were several of them. Potter and Pettigrew she recognised at an instant, as they were both standing fairly close by, their eyes widened in horror at their friend's treatment. But where was Snape?

"Well," said Fumes, sounding a little impatient," what is it?"

"I have a serious case of rule-breaking on the Astronomy tower," Minerva replied, inventing wildly. "Your seventh-years. I daresay you are the only one they will listen to. I tried everything I could."

Fumes seemed dissatisfied.

"Well, I'll be there in a bit. I need to deal with one matter after the other. The matter isn't particularly urgent, I am sure?"

"Incredibly urgent," Minerva assured, spotting Snape at last. He was standing in a corner a little apart from the other boys, his face displaying no emotion whatsoever although his eyes were glittering defiantly. "I'll take over down here, if you wish me to, but this matter requires your full attention."

There was a small break.

"Very well," Fumes replied sourly, turning back to Black and the bench on which the boy's hands were still resting, knuckles as white as his handsome face. The professor snatched a piece of parchment, on which a few numbers and the boys' names were scribbled. "One down with this one," he growled. "See to it that Potter learns his lesson this time."

And he marched out. Minerva suddenly found herself alone in Hogwarts's least favoured vault, a cane shoved into her shaking hand and the parchment in the other, having three extremely anxious-looking faces peer into hers. She lowered both hands and heaved a deep breath.

"Get up, Mr. Black," she said quietly. "How many did you get?"

"Just the one," the boy replied grumpily. He was visibly embarrassed and Minerva decided to deal with this as quickly and efficiently as possible.

"Seems I arrived just in time then, did I not?" she smiled, putting both, cane and parchment on the bank beside the victim. Black nodded, relief spreading on his face upon realising that she was on their side.

"You all know the headmaster's decision," Minerva said to the others. "No more punishments such as this one. This was over the incidents on the Isle of Mull, I take it?"

The three Gryffindors confirmed this. Snape, Minerva realised, had to be here because of a different kind of misdeed, but he did not speak, nor did he show any sign of relief that she was here or that he was not going to receive the punishment Fumes had had in store for him. Minerva remembered the House-Elf's words – "Young Slytherin very afraid of thrashing vault – he never admits to it, of course…"

"Well then," she said after a moment's consideration, "I trust you are aware that I just saved your backsides – literally."

"Absolutely, Professor," Black confirmed quickly, while Potter and Pettigrew still seemed unable to do anything but nod. Snape remained unmoving. "Just in time, too! Man, I would have hated more of that."

"It can be rather unpleasant," Minerva nodded. "Well then, off to your dormitories now, all four of you."

The boys left the vault in a hurry. Snape, who had been furthest away from the door, crept out after the other three, avoiding the deputy headmistress's gaze. He moved a little like a spider, Minerva thought. Not straight and self-assured as his father tended to. Well, of course with Snapes it was often a matter of time before they grew to be their confident, grown-up self. Then again…

"Mr. Snape," she heard herself say before the boy had quite vanished behind the corner of the dungeon corridor, "could I have a quick word?"

He turned. Unmoving, unspeaking. The boy's expression was blank and cold as it had been before and he had both hands hidden deeply inside the pockets of his robes. Minerva approached him not without worry.

"What did you do to ignite my colleague's anger?" she enquired, aware that she sounded rather formal.

"Cheating in the mock exam," the boy muttered.

Minerva frowned. "Quite a harsh retribution," she said. "How many were you down for?"

"Three," Snape whispered.

The deputy headmistress nodded gravely.

"I hear Fumes is quite a… skilled caner, if you want to put it like that. And the implement itself is one of the worst I've ever seen. You wouldn't have enjoyed it."

She was surprised to see that Snape's eyes narrowed even further.

"No," he said harshly. "I didn't enjoy it."

There was a moment's break, in which Minerva stared at her student in upcoming horror.

"What do you – you mean you were already…"

A reproachful glare met hers.

"Mr. Snape, I am so sorry," she whispered. "I wasn't aware… I did think I'd come just in time…"

"You know," the boy said boldly, suddenly sounding a lot older than he actually was, "_they_ were down for six after their foolish attempt of getting around the punishment by jinxing their stupid backsides. I would have _liked _to see the rest of the show, you know. Just for _them_ to feel what it is like for a change!"

And he turned, heading off in the direction of his common room. Minerva considered for a moment whether she ought to follow him, but then decided against it. Three were manageable without the support of the school nurse. And she had the shrewd suspicion that Snape would have resented another night in the hospital wing – more than the actual aftereffects of the beating.


	26. Maude's Secret

**Maude's Secret**

Colonel Caelian Lance Snape boarded the train to Manchester at precisely eight o'clock on Saturday morning, one day after he had received a letter from the Headmaster of Hogwarts, asking his assistance in an essentially private, yet uncomfortably official matter. Professor Dumbledore, old and senile though he might be, seemed to have discovered a way of retrieving a person's memory after a level eight memory charm had been used on their brain. Lance had heard of the headmaster's rediscovery of young Maura's secret keeper, of course, if only because it had happened to take place at Mull, the very place Lance visited quite frequently these days.

Luckily, the soldier decided, the headmaster had successfully remembered that experiments of a magnitude such as the one he was about to conduct required two trained officers of the wizarding army for reasons of supervision and emergency control. Not, considered Lance, that Dumbledore thought he actually required assistance in case of an emergency, but the regulations had to be observed.

The train, built and commonly used by Muggles, was exceptionally uncomfortable. It did, however provide a thoroughly non-magical way of travelling from one place to the next and thus served exactly the purpose for which Lance had chosen it. There was a simple trick to getting your performance in emergency prevention to the topmost level. A non-magic environment combined with a willingness to go without magic for several hours prior to the emergency situation helped focus your inner magic – made you 'more powerful', to use the words of students around Severus's age.

The compartment Lance had chosen for himself was entirely empty. The soldier liked his privacy. A lack of chatting and laughing around him would provide for an excellent environment to finish his current lecture – a guide on _How to Effectively Prevent Barbarian Attacks_ by General Elmar Sirkesi. The individual seats were separated by small armrests, which luckily gave way easily when Lance decided to remove one of them in order to be able to squeeze in next to the grubby window. Strangely, he thought, they seemed to be built for the very purpose of being shoved out of the way in the first place.

Several hours later, the train rolled into Manchester station and Lance got off quickly, deciding never to use this means of travel again. A beaming Dumbledore was standing close to one of the barriers between platforms three and four, observing his guest with a welcoming smile on his face.

"Lance!" he said warmly. "Good of you to come so quickly."

"One of my more pleasant duties," the soldier replied, offering a massive hand to the elderly headmaster, who took it gladly into his own, lined ones.

"Did I give you enough details concerning the procedure? I must admit that I was a little uncertain as to what kind of description you needed when I wrote that letter."

"Entirely sufficient," Lance assured. "Where are we headed?"

"A little hostel not far from here," Dumbledore replied. "I'll have to warn you – the owners go out of their way to make it appear as though they were Muggles, but both of them were actually born into wizarding families."

"Squibs?" Lance enquired.

"Alternative lifestyle," Dumbledore replied. "Magicless by choice, I believe."

"Do they know for what purpose you rented a room?" the soldier went on, almost sure of what the answer was going to be.

"Of course. I took the liberty of renting the entire hostel, by the way."

"Why am I not surprised? Is the girl there now?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"Robertson is with her," he said quietly. "As you suggested. But I have to say that she is not actually a girl anymore. I am aware that last time we saw her she was quite a bit younger, but she has grown into a magnificent woman. I did get the impression that Robertson was disappointed when he discovered this."

"He is my most capable Sergeant at present," Lance replied. "I also have something to discuss with him. That's why I need him here."

"Of course," Dumbledore said politely. "And he might have been tired of the long travel, of course. It seems he chose to come by Muggle plane. Very unpleasant way of travelling, I happen to know. I hope you had a pleasant journey, though?"

Lance considered for a moment whether to lie, but then decided against it.

"No."

"I know what it is like, of course," Dumbledore sighed. "Our kind really aren't used to methods of Muggle transportation any more."

"Who is going to assist you in this matter?" Lance enquired, wishing to keep the conversation on topic.

Dumbledore grinned. "Since Minerva is busy preparing timetables for the exam week, I decided to ask my dear colleague Professor Sprout to lend me a hand. I believe you know her?"

"A little," Lance said darkly, careful to keep his face unmoving.

"Now now, I would consider that an understatement," came a voice from a few feet away. Professor Sprout had appeared in the doorframe of the corner shop next to them, an undetermined number of sweet items in both hands. "I, at least, am happy to say that I know you a lot more than just a little, Lance, dear. Maltesers?"

"No, thank you," Lance replied sternly, putting his arms behind his back to appear less impressionable.

"Later, perhaps," the Herbology witch remarked. Lance doubted he would get around taking at least some tea with her this time.

"Mandy, were you not going to stay with Maude and the Sergeant?"

"He was too annoying," her friend snorted. "I just had to leave. Maude, though, seems perfectly happy with his presence. She adores him."

"Robertson is an exceptionally capable soldier," Lance said sharply. The reprimand in his voice was very perceptible, he noticed, and so did Mandy Sprout. Her gaze darkened, glided over the soldier's boots and uniform up to his face, and she put her acquisitions in one hand while handing the soldier a Muggle chocolate bar.

"Eat this. It will sort out your priorities."

He was obliged to take it, Lance knew, so he did, grumpily.

They proceeded in silence until they reached a shabby-looking double-door, which led inside an equally second-rate building. Dumbledore had chosen his location well. If it was supposedly Muggle territory, there would not be too much disturbing magical influence from outside and if the owners were not actually Muggles, they would not have to waste valuable time with the application of memory charms. Against his will, Lance was impressed.

Dumbledore led them to the furthest end of the first floor corridor and knocked politely at the last door on the right. They entered one after another with Dumbledore leading the way and Lance not permitting Professor Sprout to follow in his tracks, but instead bowing slightly to indicate that she ought to pass before him.

When Lance had entered and closed the door behind his broad back, Sergeant Robertson jumped to attention while a mid-aged woman rose slowly from her seat to greet them with a handshake. Lance surveyed her closely. So this was the Muggle girl who had hidden in a wizarding family for so long… how she had managed to hide her non-magic state he could only guess.

"Welcome Colonel," she said quietly. Her voice was warm and pleasant – much more mature than last time he had seen her, Lance thought, slightly surprised.

"It is… good to see you again," he managed.

"Some tea?" Maude offered.

"Thank you," the colonel replied. Dumbledore looked from the tall man to the chubby woman and back again, an amused smile playing around his bearded lips.

"I'll show you through the process, Lance," he offered, pointing in the direction of Mandragora Sprout, who had begun to mumble a few basic security spells, obviously quite eager to start.

Maude smiled softly and turned towards a tea tray while Lance followed Dumbledore's recount of how he planned to proceed.

"_Aguamenti_," he heard Maude's mumbling voice from the general direction of the tea pot. "_Thermo Maximum_."

Lance turned again, received a steaming cup of tea and nodded politely. Maude turned to the others to distribute more cups, putting her wand back on the coffee table next to the bed.

Lance's brain needed a moment process the information of what was wrong about this. Then, however, when realisation began to dawn, he choked and nearly dropped his tea from being shaken by coughs. Mandy was there at an instant, patting his back – or the part she could reach.

"You have a wand!" he managed in-betweeen coughs, staring incredulously at Maude. "And you _use_ it?"

Maude blushed.

"I am sorry, I… no, it's not a wand. It serves to imitate one to protect my non-magical identity. For… for security reasons."

"And the spells?" Lance enquired, still taken aback.

"It is a habit she has taken up while living with the Lupins," Dumbledore explained, sipping his tea with a good-natured smile. "Seems logical, does it not? If you want people to think you are a witch, you will have to use spells. Or at least pretend to."

"You cannot pretend to use spells!" the colonel snarled, surprised at his own harshness. "Where did the tea come from?"

"It was in the teapot all along," Maude said, still crimson red. "Perfectly hot and all. People often notice things only when their attention is drawn to them. It's all to do with a bit of cleverness and good timing."

"Wait," came Robertson's confused voice from the back of the room, "you mean you aren't a witch?"

"Robertson!" Lance turned, more disbelief in his voice. "Of course she isn't! Don't tell me you were fooled by that… trickery?"

"Well…" Not it was Robertson's turn to blush.

"Ah, forget it," growled Lance, unfolding his arms to wave his Sergeant's idiocy away. "Now, let me see… I am sure this is against some sort of ancient rule…"

A familiar hand clapped the soldier's broad back, again not quite reaching his shoulder.

"Cheer up, Lance. You won't find a law forbidding Muggles to pretend that they're magical, however much you might like it…"

"I find it… uncanny," the soldier eventually said, his teeth clenched. "But I apologise for my harsh reaction. You caught me unawares."

"Maude's certainly found a way to defend her place in the wizarding world," Dumbledore smiled. "She even fooled _me _a couple of times. We are just so used to everything being done via magic that we don't notice if the spell essentially works or not."

"As I say," Maude added, "it's all to do with attention. "Sergeant Robertson here was quite convinced I'd used 'Lumos' only moments before you came. He didn't realise there was a second light switch, you see."

"And then she told me she was sick of waiting for you and that she'd speeden you up a little," said Robertson dimly. "Which was pretty much a _minute _before you entered the room…"

"Well, the colonel is hard to miss from here," Maude said timidly, nodding at the room's only window, through which, from her place, wide parts of the hostel's front lawn and the entrance door were visible, all behind Robertson's back.

Against his will, Lance's mouth twitched.

"Well then," he said, "I believe we are here for a reason?"

"Yes, to try and get my memory back," Maude said excitedly. "We prepared everything already."

"And I placed a few security spells," Professor Sprout remarked. "Lance, will you stand here with your back to the door?"

"Certainly," the soldier nodded. "I shall like to see the official document from the Ministry of Magic concerning the new incantation. It _is_ an incantation, I presume? Not a potion?"

"Absolutely right," Dumbledore said cheerfully, handing him a piece of parchment. He then assumed an expression of the utmost concentration and stepped towards Maude when everyone had signalled that they were ready. He and Mandy Sprout had now taken out their wands and despite her previously confident attitude, Maude now looked as though she was not sure what to think of the imminent procedure. Dumbledore put his left hand on her shoulder.

"Ready, Maude?"

She nodded and the headmaster raised his wand at her temple to speak the incantation while Mandy mirrored him at the Muggle woman's other side. The whole process took no longer than two or three minutes. Lance, wand at the ready, surveyed it closely. The smallest sign of something going against the plan would require his leaping action immediately, reversing the new spell's unknown effect. Maude, however, seemed as happy as ever when Mandy finally moved away from her, tiny pearls of sweat gleaming on her short forehead. Dumbledore was not so calm.

"Come on!" he hissed at the spell rather than the woman before him, seeming to intensify the incantation each time he renewed the grip on his wand. His hands, too, were sweaty now and he looked as though any more of this would throw him off his feet soon.

"You _have_ to work," he mumbled. "I personally made sure you would!"

And then, suddenly, Maude began to speak.

"Professor," she said nervously. "Something's happening. I can see things. It's not like remembering, but there are… people… and situations I've never seen before. It's like watching wizarding wireless – not my own memories, at least I don't…"

"Can you see Maura?"

There was a moment's pause before Maude suddenly began to smile.

"Yes," she whispered. "Professor, I know where your daughter is hidden. I'll lead you to her."


	27. Blood Matters

**Blood Matters**

It was annoying to see them in such high spirits.

A scruffy tartan bag dangling over his shoulder, and his robes uncharacteristically slung around his waist, Severus Snape was standing atop a hill slope, watching waves of students storm the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch and pat each other on the back. He preferred keeping a safety distance. Whenever Slytherin won the cup, things were perfectly peaceful. People enjoyed the good feeling after a well-deserved victory, while the other team, thankfully, tended to shut up and leave everyone alone. Not so when Potter and his gang were celebrating. Black, whom Professor McGonagall had put out of job after yet another heavily biased commentary, had been first to storm the field after the Snitch had been caught. He had pulled his best friend in a wild embrace, almost knocking the other boy over, whose feet had touched the ground only seconds before. The two of them, including the rest of the Gryffindor team had then started forming a sort of heap, which was now creeping and winding on the ground like a many-headed snake. Too quick to catch and too dangerous to approach.

Severus turned, disgusted, scratching his neck, and then took a few tentative steps away from his observation post. There was homework to do. Essays to begin or to complete. And, of course, most students were now in the middle of revising for their end-of-year exams. Were they two or three weeks away now? Severus wrinkled his nose a little and went on a discovery trip for a bogey. Barely two, he calculated. The cheers from below mutated into collective grunting. Potter was carried by three team-members and a bunch of fangirls to the edge of the pitch, where the Quidditch cup was waiting for them.

Severus disliked Quidditch. It was a foolish way of showing off skills that he had, after three years of more or less dedicated training, still not been able to obtain. Why anyone would waste their time catching balls when there were far more interesting things to do at a school of _magic_ was entirely beyond the small, sullen boy. There was wizard chess, which he had never particularly understood, but liked watching. McGonagall was said to be superb at it, but he had never had the honour of seeing her play. He had, however, discovered a fairly large, red and gold set on one of the staff room tables - through a gap in the door while waiting for Professor Flitwick the other day.

Then there was Herbology, which was a little like Care of Magical Creatures, only that your creatures seldom ran away and only occasionally bit you in the finger. Severus had joined the Herbology club at the beginning of the school year, admittedly without this having much much effect on his achievements in class. The last grade sheet had, yet again, featured a complaint by his overenthusiastic teacher that he was not using his full potential. A- had been all she felt she could give him. Severus was satisfied. He did not have many As. Potions was one, but of course it was one of the easiest subjects around. And Defence, of course. Unfortunately, with Defence there was always exam week, which tended to reduce him to a wreck of nerves. As did all the subjects where the emphasis lay on the theoretical part.

The celebration at the foot of the hill continued. Severus decided to return to the library for some undisturbed revision. He closed his bag, which kept opening on its own accord, and shuffled towards the main entrance doors at such a slow pace that he was finally overtaken by a couple of fifth years, who seemed to agree with him that Quidditch was a waste of their valuable time.

"…going to do basic training after the OWLs?" one of them just finished asking his friends. The other two nodded.

"Army's going downhill, though, my father says," the first boy said pensively. "I'll do basic, of course. But I don't think I'll make career as a wizarding soldier. There isn't much in it these days."

"I hear only idiots sign up for longer than the required four months," one of the other two grinned. Severus frowned at him. He had blonde hair and was taller than his two friends. As opposed to them, it was easy to imagine him in one of the red uniforms of the wizarding army, running around in the forest or the wasteland, hunting barbarians.

"You know, Dick," the first speaker now said to the taller one, "_I_ hear only _Robertsons_ sign up for longer than the required four months. You think people use these statements synonymously?"

The boy called 'Dick' held his fist under the other boy's nose, seeming so theatrical for a moment that Severus assumed his anger might not be real. He turned out to be mistaken, however. The boy Dick was threatening took a step backwards in surprise and Dick uttered a very nasty insult, which Severus resolved to forget again straight away. "Careful," he said, "My brother showed me one or the other move, which I might just decide to try out on you."

"You'll see where violence leads you," mumbled the third boy, who was the smallest of the group, chubby, and who wore a stupid blue hat on his grubby hair. "It's true what Alderton says – all that is left of the wizarding army these days is three African camps, a couple of splinter groups up North, and a bunch of self-possessed officers who don't realise that they are living in the past. You know, I hear some of them are older than Nicholas Flamel and still on duty, none of them capable even to lift a wand…"

"That's a LIE!"

Three heads turned left and right in search for the person who had interrupted their conversation, and it was only after a few seconds that all three of them realised they had to incline their heads to look the offender in the eye. Three looks, disbelieving and quite possibly a little amused, fixed Severus's sullen face. They were standing almost in a semicircle around him and Severus suddenly wondered whether entering this conversation had been such a good idea after all. There was no Skein to protect him, he remembered. No one to back him up, and not a teacher in sight.

"Snape," said the boy called 'Alderton' now calmly as a tiger focussing his prey. His face had an bony, very unpleasant look to it and his eyes were cold and unmoving, featuring an icy shade of blue. Severus disliked him from the moment he spoke and returned a suitably defiant scowl.

"Yeah," he said. "So what?"

"Youwould, of course, know what you are talking about," remarked the boy called Dick coldly. "What with your father being a colonel and all."

Severus shot him a resigned look. Sometimes, just sometimes, he wondered what it was like not to be member of a family known by every son of the old wizarding families, whose members all did two months of basic training between fifth and sixth year at least. He decided to stick out his tongue. The older boys laughed.

"Such a darling," remarked the third boy nastily, whose name Severus did not know yet. "Look at him behaving like a five-year-old to attract our attention."

The Entrance Hall was deserted except for the four of them. Severus suddenly realised that he was inwardly scanning it for any kind of noise indicating that there was someone close by, desperate for something that would get him out of having to defend his heritage.

But was his heritage really what he had always supposed it to be? With a shudder, Severus thought of the newspaper article he had once found, which was now stored safely in his trunk in the third-year dormitory. A brief mentioning of someone's wedding, a certain Eileen Prince's wedding…

"Somehow I can't imagine this one doing basic," the boy called Alderton now remarked, his cold gaze still fixed on Severus. "But there's no way around it, is there?"

"Aren't you that… _one _third-year who missed out on his flying certificate yet again this week?" the third boy enquired, watching Severus with curious politeness. The younger boy clenched his fist again.

"Possible… So. What?"

"Why, I was just wondering," said the boy slowly, "how the son of a colonel can turn out so pathetic as to fail his flying exam _three times_…"

"Well, maybe I'm not," Severus snapped. "A colonel's son, I mean… I mean, I'm actually adopted, you see."

Three disbelieving looks were exchanged.

"What," said Dick after a moment's surprised silence, sounding almost disappointed, "not a real Snape?"

"A real Snape," snarled Severus. "Just not of the w-… just not of this particular line. My real father fought and died in the war… against Grindelwald."

"As if!" the third boy burst out.

"Keep telling yourself that," said Alderton softly.

"Everyone claims to have fought in _that _war," sneered Dick.

"But it's true," said Severus hotly, resenting the fact that they did not believe him – he might have been telling the truth, after all. "My father was Tobias Snape, married to Eileen Prince – uhm, who also died in the war," he invented quickly.

"A witch in a wizarding war?" Dick snarled. "Do you know what you're saying, man?"

"Don't be ridiculous, young Snape," Alderton said softly. "You are as common as we are. With one difference – your father is a member of a dying institution. With his head as much in the clouds as the rest of them."

"Don't. You. _Dare_. Talk like that about my - about him!" Severus said heatedly. "He has –"

But what Colonel Lance Snape had, none of the three older boys ever found out. There were voices coming from the entrance door and minutes later the hallway filled with cheering, celebrating Gryffindors. Severus and the three fifth-years went for a tactic retreat. The former finally made his way upstairs, as planned, and the three friends slouched towards the Slytherin common room for some more officer-bashing.

Then, having taken several staircases and a tunnelled shortcut, when he was just passing the statue of Gregory the Smarmy on his way to the library, Severus was held up again by a heavy hand on his shoulder. Dreading that one of the older boys had followed him after all to finish their conversation, he whirled around and, to his enormous surprise, looked into the round, beaming face of his Herbology teacher Professor Sprout.

"Severus," she said, "I mean – Mr. Snape. Could I have a word, perhaps?"

"Sure," the boy mumbled quickly, and then, remembering his manners, "any time, Professor."

"I have two requests," said Professor Sprout, as bouncy as ever, though perhaps a little more earnest. "And they are both related to your schoolwork."

Severus's heart sank, just a notch.

"Is there a problem?"

"Well, yes," said the professor seriously. "I must tell you that Professor Slughorn has just been to see me with some grave news. I really don't know if my life is ever going to be the same again after this."

"What is it?" asked Severus quickly, thinking, hoping against hope, that she sounded almost sarcastic. He could not remember any recent misdeeds or failings. Even Transfiguration had gone exceptionally well in recent weeks. But who knew… with this teacher, you never knew what she was playing at.

"Your head of house spoke to me this morning," said the Herbology witch, a grave frown forming on her small forehead. "He let me know that it will be absolutely impossible for him to move the Potions club to a different time, let alone another day. That means, if you still intend to join next term, I would either have to move the Herbology club, which I absolutely resent, or… well," she sighed, "or see you go," she then added, sounding as though taking this step would end all her world's happiness in one go.

Severus grinned.

"That's fine, Professor," he said nervously, pushing a strand of hair out of his face in almost girl-like fashion. "I don't mind… I mean, I would like to keep looking after the Venomous Tentacula, but the club's getting a bit crowded anyway. And Potion's got to do with Herbology, of course."

"Only in the broadest of senses," the Professor said sourly. "And I still think if Professor Slughorn were just a little more co-operative…"

"I suppose he has his reasons for wanting the club on Thursdays, though," Severus said, trying to sound very serious and grown-up.

"Well, I congratulate you on being one of the few who got permission to join, of course," Professor Sprout said after a moment's internal struggle. "I am sure it will help you on your way to greatness..."

"Doubtless," Severus grinned, thinking of the Slug Club, which was almost inseperably linked with Slughorn's Potions disciples.

"Ts," said the Professor sternly. "You sound like your father already. Just see to it that you don't outgrow all your friends before you have had the chance to pass your flying exam next year. It is an unfortunate habit of Snapes to cross the seven foot mark before they turn seventeen and while I personally approve of tall wizards, I am not sure there is a school broom strong enough to carry someone the size of your father, giant that he is."

She stopped, obviously a little embarrassed of having drifted into chatting mode again, as she so often did in private conversations. Severus waited, nervously, a little awkward again all of a sudden. He suddenly self himself wishing Skein was here. He would have known what to do - what to reply to a statement like this. After all, it might just have been a harmless comparison.

"There is no giant blood in my family, Professor Sprout," he eventually decided to say, politely, yet reserved, thinking of Tobias and Eileen again. He was not, strictly speaking, lying. After all, how could he know?

It was only when the chubby witch had turned around the corner that he realised what her last words actually meant. Of course she was right. Of course Snapes were always, always, extremely tall. Everyone said so. Family members, Hogwarts teachers… even his father mentioned it every now and then. And, of course, he had never been particularly well-built himself. What if he _did_never pass the 'seven foot mark'? What if he was, in fact, not going to grow into a 'small giant'? Was this not as good as proof that he was not, in fact, related to the wizarding line of the family after all?

Severus smiled. For almost fifteen minutes, he stood in the corridor leading to and away from the library, trying to imagine how he discovered definite proof that he was, in fact, the son of Tobias Snape and Eileen Prince. A Halfblood, yes, but still a member of one of the oldest wizarding families around. A Prince. A Halfblood. A half-blood Prince.

When Severus was sitting in the library some time later, revising for his upcoming Defence Against the Dark Arts exam, he was wearing an exceedingly smug smile on his face. He had signed his entire set of textbooks with the smallest quill he had found in his bag. "This book," he had written, using his most legible hand, "is the property of the Half-Blood Prince."


	28. Exams

**Exams **

Exam time, being the busiest of the year, always took Minerva's concentration away from the students. Indeed, after the third-years' practical examination on Wednesday morning, the deputy headmistress almost jumped in shock when one of her students knocked on her office door shortly after she had entered it. She hesitated, just for a moment, whether she was ready for a discussion in-between the execution of one exam and the preparation for the next, but the woman inside her, not the teacher, decided to be allowing.

"Enter," she said, and, upon a sullen-looking Sirius Black's arrival, added, "but be quick. I have little time."

Black shrugged and slumped himself on a chair without invitation, kicking the door shut behind him with the tiniest movement of his foot. Minerva gave him a disapproving frown, just for good measure. Educating young men in their sullen phase between thirteen and fifteen did about as much good as the attempt to discuss any actual content in a classroom full of pubescent fourth-years.

"I am to report to you, Professor," said the young Black after a moment's gruff silence. "Professor Vector sends a little message. Would you like to hear?"

"I daresay I do not have much of a choice," Minerva replied, lowering herself in the chair behind her desk with an unsuppressed sigh. Black knew he was tiring her and he was very well supposed to. "What did you do this time?"

"Fight," replied her student, sounding quite unconcerned though still sullen. "Oh, and I tried to cheat during the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. Do you want the message word by word?"

"With the right intonation, please," Minerva said in cynic resignation. "But without gestures."

The boy, who had raised from his chair already, sat down again with a look of vague disappointment on his face.

"Professor Vector would like you to know," he said, "that 'your students are a bunch of self-possessed, inconsiderate, socially inept rogues, whose only concern lies in the destruction of a carefully built up hierarchy-system…' no, wait. She said 'class structure'. Or something."

Minerva rolled her eyes. She could not help it. Stochastica Vector had taken Alexander Fumes's position for the time being, ever since the former soldier had left the school, taking all his belongings with him. She was the only Slytherin staff member capable of supervising the Potions exams with the necessary competence, of course, and Minerva knew she had received a small scale time-turner for this specific purpose.

"That is her message?" she asked the student before her, trying to sound neutral instead of affronted.

"I don't think she intended me to deliver every word," young Black grinned. "Her essential point seems to be that she regards my behaviour as inappropriate for an examination situation, though."

"Which is spot on, presumably," Minerva said, rubbing her face with the tips of all ten fingers. "What did you do?"

"I tried to thwart the cheating spells by giving my answers to Sandra Abbott from Ravenclaw," said the boy proudly.

"But she wasn't in your class!" Minerva observed. "Whatever gave you the idea that the answers would be useful to Miss Abbott in the first place?"

"The classes are different, but the exams deal with the same content, don't they?"

His downright, open answer surprised her.

"Yes, well, I suppose, but…"

"I just wanted to know if it was theoretically possible," said Sirius Black apologetically. "It's not like she needs it anyway."

"I am aware that she doesn't," Minerva said thinly. "She has been my student for three years now, you know."

"Professor Vector seemed to think otherwise," Black said darkly. "She said if we Gryffindors didn't stop trying to question authority, she would personally see to it that the house was replaced by a delegation of House-Elf exchange students."

"Ah, yes, very funny," Minerva mumbled. "Quite Stochastica's style, I must say. Did she say anything else?"

"No," replied the boy flatly. "Only that you were to put me in detention – again."

"Ah, but I daresay that would bore you, wouldn't it?" Minerva said sarcastically. "Doing lines all by yourself, without your best friend to keep you company?"

"I am not looking forward to it, if that's what you mean," said the boy, frowning.

"What I mean," said Minerva, getting up and starting to gather her papers, "is that I have no time whatsoever to supervise any kind of detention at the moment. And nor, I wager, does Professor Vector. Incidentally, I believe there is a statute somewhere saying that if students manage to thwart the anti-cheating spells, it means their achievement is so great that it is justified to give them the mark they earned this way."

"Including Sandra?" young Black marveled.

"Specifically Sandra," replied the deputy headmistress, "seeing as this particular bit of security magic works from her side in the first place. Whatever you told her, she won't have understood a single correct word. The spell scrambles up the content of your speech act – on the risk that you are going to use this piece of information against us next year."

She gave him a mild smile, making clear that there was no possible way for him to come up with a feasible solution. The boy's expression said that he thought he already had one.

Only mildly disquieted, Minerva dismissed her visitor from her office only minutes later. The rest of this day's examinations were no less stressful than the morning ones had been, but somehow the thought of a nice cup of tea with Emeric and Mandy in the staff room had held up her spirits to the very end. Mandy, she knew, had examined a rather insufferable bunch of Slytherin sixth-years who were due for their NEWTs in less than a year's time. And Emeric's schedule had been full of practicals. She was therefore not very surprised to find both her colleagues slumped together in their chairs as though the world had just promised to come to a sudden and painful end. The staff room was otherwise empty and Minerva decided to liven up the mood by conjuring a box of biscuits and a tea tray. She did not get as far as to take out her wand, however. When Mandy spotted her, she quickly jumped into a standing position again, as though having waited for her friend and colleague to appear.

"Minerva, you won't believe what has happened! A student is missing!"

The deputy headmistress frowned. "During exam week? That's new. Who? Did they miss any exams?"

"He vanished after the last one," Emeric squeaked, excitement written all over his tiny face. "Goodness knows, I fear it might be my fault..."

"It is mine..." Mandy interrupted, but Minerva refused to permit this kind of discussion even to erupt.

"Who is it?"

"Snape," sighed Mandy, her chubby arms slumping down on both sides. "Again. I'm sorry, Minerva. I know you are getting positively sick of..."

"Why did he leave?" asked Minerva sharply, refusing to let her exasperation show.

"We don't well know," Mandy began, but Emeric placed both hands on the table in front of him with such vigour that the two women had no chance but to turn around and let him speak.

"It is my fault!" he said again, more persistently this time. "I did not check all my students' boggarts before using them in the practical Defence examination. We had a _boggart corporalis_. Snape had one, to be exact."

Minerva felt the blood drain from her cheeks. "Are you quite sure?" she whispered.

"Saw him myself," Emeric replied darkly. "Only too late, though. You wouldn't believe the kind of state the boy was in when I realised something was wrong.

"Did he... try to kill him?" Minerva asked, shaking from head to toe now.

"I don't know his exact intention, but the mere fact that he could touch his opposite seemed to have paralysed the boy. He was entirely under the boggart's control when I found him."

"Merlin's Beard," Minerva whispered. "He did have his theoretical Transfiguration exam afterwards – I was wondering why he looked so pale."

"I gave him some sweets," Emeric said uneasily. "They seemed to calm him down. But something the boggart did or said must have driven him away now. We checked all the enchanted maps. He isn't on Hogwarts grounds any more.

Minerva nodded slowly, although her mind was racing. Severus Snape's boggart could be anything, from a magical creature he had encountered in one of his father's many books to a dying woman telling him her death was his fault alone. She was not sure whether she wanted to hear the answer and suddenly felt that it was probably irrelevant, too.

"I'll go and look for him," she said firmly, grabbing her cloak. "My earliest exam is tomorrow at eleven o'clock. I am sure the two of you will be up much earlier, won't you?"

Her two colleagues nodded, mutely.

"Well then, I shan't lose any time," Minerva said resolutely. "I'll use the basement tunnel, as I am almost certain he will have used it. It's a favoured exit amongst Slytherins."

"Thank you, Minerva," squeaked Emeric Flitwick, sounding very relieved.

"I'll accompany you downstairs," Mandy Sprout said quietly.


	29. Teacher and Student

**Teacher and Student**

There was not a single sound now, except for the occasional hotting of an owl.

Severus stood several feet away from the trampled path he had just left, uncertain whether the gap in the trees before him provided firm enough ground to tread on or not. Something to his right moved and he whirled around, discovering that there was no living being in sight, indeed, that the forest to both sides was pitch black and gloomy, as he had seen it so many times before, usually without knowing that he was about to enter it. He heard another crack, jumped, and quickly decided that it had probably not been produced by a human being.

It was hard to see the ground now. There were creepers everywhere and Severus had stumbled and fallen more than once during his adventure of leaving the castle to move South as fast and as far as possible. The tree to his right looked as though it had been hit with a carving charm, but Severus could not tell for sure what the ominous signs on it actually meant. A triangle was pointing back to where he had come from, another sign, vaguely arrow-like, to where he assumed Hogsmeade to be. There were letters, too, or at least they could be read as letters. Severus thought they looked vaguely like the Anglo-Saxon signs he and his classmates had been deciphering all year in their Ancient Runes lessons, but he had never done his homework very thoroughly and it was hard to learn all the meanings by heart if you did not ever use them in your everyday life.

The boy jumped again. This time, the crack had been a lot louder and seemed to come from a part of the forest, where the trees were not covered in quite the same shade of black as the ones to his right hand side. The sun could not entirely have set behind the Western mountain range just yet. Blasted animals. He would try and set fire to the next rabbit that crossed his path. With a resentful sniff, Severus turned again – and froze.

A set of emerald green robes barred his way and, for shock and fear at the sudden realisation of what he was facing, Severus squeaked and tumbled, falling backwards over one of the creepers. He landed hard on his backside, roducing another squeal – of pain, this time. The deputy headmistress surveyed him through her square spectacles in unmoving silence.

"Mr Snape," she said sternly when Severus showed no inclination to move. She outstretched one of her slender arms, offering to help him up. "What do you profess you are doing out here in the middle of the night on your own? Explain yourself!"

Severus remained silent. She would not kill him. She would not drag him back. He would remain sitting here until she went away. That was it. He would just not move.

The professor's dark eyebrows pulled into one, straight, stern line.

"Well?"

Severus swallowed, but remained silent.

"Mr Snape," Professor McGonagll said again, sounding increasingly angry, "I am waiting!"

"She would go away soon. If he just kept his mouth and did not move...

"SNAPE!" bellowed the professor, bending forward and locking his arm in a painful grip. With uncommon force, she tried to pull him to his feet, but failed. (Severus had grown considerably heavier than he had been before the start of the new year.) "I am sick and tired of your games! I want to hear a reason why you left the school without permission this time, why you will insist on putting up the most childish manners whenever someone tries to get through to you, and why in the name of Merlin you kept me awake all night, searching for you in the Forbidden – aye, the FORBIDDEN Forest!"

Severus pressed his lips together. Who had asked her to go and look for him? He did not need her help. Once she left, he would continue his way to Hogsmeade, or London, perhaps, if he could get enough food and drink for the way...

"Well, this is it," the deputy headmistress said tiredly, "this is the last straw. If you want to be a sulky teenager, I cannae help you. But I shall not waste my time and strength educating a third-year who is still not mature enough to take responsibility for his actions. You have your father for that, I daresay, and, mark my word, he shall hear of this!"

Severus felt his insides turn to ice, but still he did not move. For a moment, he thought he heard Skein's voice in the darkness, but then realised that it was only his own heartbeat. He closed his eyes, feeling his pulse race insanely. McGonagall would not be able to make him get up and as soon as she was out of sight, he would run for his life. She was an old lady and he was young. She would not keep up.

Realising that her words seemed to have no effect whatsoever on her small student, Professor McGonagall sighed and took out her wand. Severus fixed his gaze upon it. She would not dare. Transfiguration as a punishment had been outlawed several decades ago. He had looked it up when Rodney Robertson had taken up the position as the Potions professor the year before. Not that he trusted Robertson to actually transfigure a human being, but he had checked just in case. His eyes darted from the professor to her wand and back again in stiff, calculating anticipation. McGonagall sighed.

"Please," she said suddenly, lowering her wand. "Is this really what you want, Mr Snape? Me levitating you back home, writing an owl to your father tonight, you getting suspended, possibly expelled?"

Severus blinked. There were several seconds before he had digested the term "levitate". Then, very slowly, he let out a shaky stream of breath, which he realised he had held. He closed his eyes once more and when he opened them again, the professor blurred and stretched to both sides, and suddenly there were tears again. Lots and lots of tears. His entire body shook with a dawning realisation that his plan had, in fact, failed. That he would go back to Hogwarts. That his father would hear of his cowardice. And of the exam. And of McGonagall being angry and having been up all night in search for him.

He cried and cried and only after what seemed an eternity did he realise the pair of arms that was holding him and the chest he was now leaning against, which was warm and comfortable and which made the world a better place.

The two, teacher and student, let go of each other only a considerable amount of time later. Minerva had dried young Snape's face with an oversized tartan handkerchief, stroked his trembling back for a while, and, after some time, just allowed him to curl his fingers into the cleavage of her robes. The boy, barely twelve, despite having almost finished third-year already, seemed so much like her own daughter Morgana that Minerva decided to ignore the recently revised Hogwarts regulations concerning the distance between teachers and students, which was said to "be kept at all times and under any circumstances". Forgotten the rules. Forgotten also Lance's warning, over a year ago, that too many cuddles spoiled a child like Severus, who had never felt the authority of a grown-up, what with his sick mother being overtaxed with the task of educating her son. In this situation, with her arms around the shivering, sobbing boy, Minerva could think of nothing but how to get life better for him again, how to make him feel secure enough to stay within the safety of the Hogwarts castle walls.

"Dinnae be afraid," she whispered in his ear over and over again, slipping naturally back into the dialect of her parents, grandparents, and her various aunts and uncles, all of whom had lived in some corner of the Scottish Highlands or on one of the country's many Isles. When Minerva had been young, real Scots (as opposed to the variety that had flooded the area after the invention of wizarding wireless) had still been quite common, so that all the comforting rhymes and poems that she remembered from her childhood would be of no use to Severus, who had been born and raised in Camden, as far as she knew.

Nevertheless, when his tears would dry only reluctantly, Minerva began to hum the remains of an old tune. She tried to deliver as many details as were left in her emotion-swept brain. The tune was not particularly easy, but much of the finer details had vanished over the years, and parts of the refrain, she suspected, were actually taken from another, very similar song.

Sure enough, however, the humming calmed Severus down.

They sat in silence for a long time after Minerva had finished and eventually, to her great surprise, the boy spoke. In barely more than a whisper, yet undeniably curious, Severus managed after two attempts of getting his voice under any kind of control, "She's dead, you know."

Minerva held her breath. There was a silence and then Severus said again, "She's dead – isn't she?"

"I... I suppose," Minerva said awkwardly, sure that she knew whom the boy was talking about. Only what had suddenly made him think of her, she could only guess. "Severus, I..."

Drat. First names. Always a danger in situations like this. Still, Minerva resolved to let her slip go uncorrected for once.

"She helped Charlie, and then died," Severus said quietly, his head still learning against his Transfiguration teacher. "Mother said she was too good. Too little concerned about her own well-being.

Minerva stared down at the small, pallid face and the pair of glittering, black eyes.

"Who, boy? Who are you talking about?"

"Well, Flora," replied the boy, seeming almost desperate to have her understand his meaning. "Flora McDonald. The girl in the song."

Comprehension began to dawn upon the deputy headmistress.

"Flora will keep... watch... by your weary head," she whispered, remembering a line from the tune at last. "Flora McDonald... I forgot."

"She's my ancestor," Severus said proudly. My mother's great-grandmother or something."

"Really?" said Minerva with a smile, glad that he was not trembling anymore.

"My mother's mother was a McDonald," explained the boy. "But I never met her. I only met one of my grandparents. And I don't think I liked him very much."

"Your grandfather, was it?" Minerva enquired, determined to keep him at high spirits.

"Yes," Severus nodded. "He's the Field Marshal. But he didn't like me either. Father asked him to leave after only an hour -"

He stopped. Minerva understood immediately.

"Listen, Mr Snape," she said quickly, slipping back into a slightly more formal mode, "we shall need to discuss what happened today, but I would like to offer you a chance. If you are reasonable and help me solve this problem, perhaps your father need not know any of this at all..."

A very calculating look met hers. Good. She had his attention.

"I would like to understand what is happening to you, Mr Snape," she thus said. "I would like to help you."

There was a small silence.

"You can't," Severus then replied, his voice thick as leather. "I messed them up again. I'm done for."

"You messed up... what?" Minerva asked, feeling confused.

"The exams," Severus whispered. "History and... and Astronomy... and Transfiguration," he added apologetically. "I don't know what happened. I was just sitting there and then there was Skein and then I couldn't remember a thing."

"Skein?" enquired the deputy headmistress. "Is that your stuffed dragon?"

"No!" Severus prompted sharply, as though it was the most ridiculous thing in the world to assume that Skein was a stuffed anything. "That's Pebble!"

"Oh, excuse my ignorance," Minerva said quickly, feeling her lips pull into a small smile. "Of course. But who is Skein?"

"My friend," Severus said hesitantly. "He was gone for ages, you know. But now he's back and he told me that if I messed up I'd be in serious trouble. He went down to Africa, you see, to talk to father..."

"Mr Snape," Minerva interrupted with a frown, loosening her grip slightly to look straight into the boy's black eyes, "am I right assuming that this 'Skein' is a... a student?"

"I dunno," Severus shrugged, evading her gaze. "He's my friend. It's none of my business what he does when he isn't helping me out."

"And he... helps you out... quite a lot, does he?" Minerva asked, forcing a tremble of frightened anticipation out of her voice. The last thing the boy needed now was an overtaxed teacher at his side.

"He was gone," Severus whispered. "For so long. And I was actually better off without him, I thought. But of course I didn't tell him. It's not polite to tell people you would like them gone. And he's not all bad, of course. It's nice to... have him around every now and then. But he knew anyway. And he didn't like it. Told me I couldn't do without him. And... well... because I had done with him all term, I was suddenly... I suddenly thought I couldn't do the exams now. Not without his help. Not for such a long time. But he vanished before I could ask him."

"He knows... quite a lot, this Skein, does he?" Minerva whispered.

"He knows everything," Severus replied absently. "He's always there. And he's always right..."

"Just like your father," Minerva whispered and promptly bit her lip, realising that she had, perhaps, let on too much of what was going on in her head.

There was a small pause.

"Yes," mumbled Severus after a while, "rather like him. Only that I don't go to the office if I contradict Skein, I suppose..." he let out a hoarse, uneasy laugh that sounded much more like that of an old man than that of a small boy. Minerva felt a shiver run down her spine. The word office, however casually spoken, had always carried a cold, unvoiced meaning in the mouth of Lance Snape the student. For the third time this year she felt as though there might be more to Severus's fear of his father's office than he would let on. A sudden surge of guilt swept over her and she closed her eyes, her grip tightening unduly around Severus's thin body.

"Skein always knows when there is going to be a beating, though," the child whispered. "He warns me. Sometimes only just in time for me to stop breaking the rules. I got around quite a few by doing just what he said..."

"What kind of beatings?" Minerva heard herself ask as though through a thick veil. "How often?"

Severus frowned slightly, looking uncomfortable. "You mean how often does Skein know? I told you, most of the time. Only he isn't always nice enough to tell me _before_ I..."

"Not Skein, for Merlin's sake!" raged Minerva, grabbing the boy's shoulders, tempted to shake him. "How often do you go to the office? How often does your father beat you and with what? A belt? A cane? Is it only when he is angry or does it happen at random moments during dinners? Speak, boy!"

She stopped to take a deep breath, realising that she had started shaking him after all. A pair of wide and horrified, glittering, black eyes followed her every movement.

"I... Ma-maybe three or four times du-during the holidays," Severus stammered. "I... I'm sorry, I... what was the... the question?"

"Does he use a cane?" Minerva hissed.

"O-only once," Severus said feebly. "It's u-usually just beltings, and..."

"Usually?" Minerva persisted. The boy was rather limp in her hands now, although not fighting to get free, nor seeming to mind her pressing his face to her chest every now and then.

"When I don't d-do as he says," he said quickly, his voice trembling. "It's down to me how often, really..."

"Does he beat you only in the office, or at any time, only that office beatings are the worst of all?" Minerva snarled, unable to control herself.

"I... I don't know," panted the boy. "You mean slaps? He doesn't... I... no. No real beatings, except in the office."

"Does the skin tear open?"

"No," Severus whispered, turning very white. "Ne-never..."

"And does he seem to enjoy it?" the deputy headmistress enquired, her breath flattening with every word she spoke. Severus began to cry again.

"No, no! Why do you ask all this? What right... you have nothing to do with us! Nothing at all! Leave me alone! Don't follow me! Let me go and I'll leave! Forever! You needn't have anything to do with me or father ever again!"

Minerva put both arms around the trembling, sobbing child again and closed her eyes, a mixture of fear, pity, and rage raging inside her.

"I am asking all these questions," she said with what little self-control she could muster, "because I wasn't aware that the situation at number thirteen Myrddin Street in Camden was still as bad as it used to be thirty years ago. I am asking all these questions because your father, when he was your age, would have answered every single one of them them with 'yes'. I want all these details because until a moment ago, I trusted your father more than anyone else to make reasonable decisions and to not let his horrible history repeat itself. Apparently, however," she swallowed, her whole body suddenly heavy as though filled with liquid lead, "I was mistaken. Apparently Lance Snape is no better than his own father. And that is exactly what I am going to tell him."

"You are going to talk to him?" Severus said, his head whipping up in alarm. "But you said he need not know..."

"I wasn't aware what this is all about!" Minerva insisted. "I wasn't aware that we have an actual crisis here. Se- Mr Snape, this cannot continue. I shall need to talk to your father and tell him to stop this nonsense immediately."

The boy seemed confused. Again, Minerva did not take long to guess what was puzzling him.

"The way your father treats you is wrong," she said softly. "No, don't interrupt me," she added quickly as Severus was about to protest. "I realise that he has taught you not to contradict him or to even question his decisions. I daresay there is some kind of ridiculous rule telling you that he is never wrong, but we will work on that. I shall not let another Snape grown up in the belief that his father is unfailing, even when..." her eyes narrowed, "even when he is beating his son within an inch of his life on a regular basis."


	30. Magic Marauding

**Magic Marauding  
**

The shack appeared even more shabby and full of dust particles than usual when Remus woke up in it during the early hours of a full moon night's morning. It was the last day of exam week and although the pain on his scratched belly's skin was still unbearable, the first thing Remus remembered when waking from the deep, dreamless sleep caused by the monthly transformation was that there was still one exam to go. Muggle Studies.

Next to him, the old and battered living-room table was lit by incoming rays of sun from the window. Remus used the worn piece of furniture to pull himself in an upright position. His legs were still a bit shaky, but there was something else. Something he had never before perceived after a full moon's transformation night: the sensation of not being alone in this.

With a little groan, another shape nearby shifted and made the young werewolf jump in surprise. Had the professor not left after all last night? Had she returned to see how he was? To see him, naked and shivering, in the desolate state he tended to be in when he awoke in the morning?

The shape shifted some more and then, suddenly, jumped to its feet. It was a dog, larger than any Remus had ever seen, pitch black, with a lengthy snout and a bushy tail. Remus blinked, twice, and than sat down in the armchair directly behind him, watching the animal with increasing interest and without further apprehension.

"Sirius," he whispered. "It's you, isn't it?"

The dog's snout shortened and then vanished. Bit by bit, the dog's furry shape revolved into something human-like, and eventually assumed the familiar appearance of the young pureblood, who grinned broadly at his ragged-looking friend and then got up entirely, swaying a little as he did.

"Cool, hu?"

"You made it," whispered Remus, unable to take his eyes off his friend. "You can transform at will now."

"And so can the others," replied Sirius carelessly. "We've increased our practice since that time... since Christmas. Wanted to surprise you. We've all got our shape now."

"Even Peter?"

A groan from behind the grand piano made the two boys turn, one in surprise, the other with a renewed grin on his handsome face.

"Wormtail," he said loudly to the shape now crawling out from under the three-legged instrument, "you're naked again."

"Can't help it," scowled the smaller boy, both hands folded apprehensively to cover what little dignity was left to him. "Rats look that way."

"Young ones do," prompted the Black. "If you'd only do as Prongs told you and thought of a furry one..."

"Prongs?" interrupted Remus, with interest.

"You'll never believe it," replied Sirius. "Boy, oh boy. He's still same old James, but when he's transformed..."

"What kind of animal..."

"He's a stag," squeaked Peter, looking around for his wand and finding it inches away from the piano's left pedal. "Huge, I tell you. That's why he doesn't fit through the tunnel."

"Good," said Remus firmly. "Neither should you. I wish you had turned into bigger animals. It's too dangerous for you to be with me in here..."

"Don't be ridiculous!" retorted Sirius impatiently. "We're animals. You were all happy and fluffy last night. Werewolves might attack humans, but you won't believe how nice they can be towards dogs..."

He broke off, realising that this sounded all wrong.

"Anyway," he said quickly, "we'll keep you company, whether you want it or not. Can't help it, can you? We'll just slip in – keep you from scratching yourself. Did you even notice you don't look half as bad as usually? Oh, right," he then added, following Remus's gaze to the big scratch across his chest, "that one was there before we arrived last night. Sorry about that. We seriously tried to get Prongs through the hole under the Whomping Willow. You gotta see those antlers..."

"I understand that," said Remus quietly. "But... are you sure you aren't flopping back and forth by accident? None of you?" He eyed Peter with some apprehension.

"Absolutely," said the smaller boy. Having summoned himself a set of robes, he looked much less pathetic than before. Remus hesitated for a moment, and then decided that they had underestimated Peter before. Perhaps everything was going to be all right after all.

"Pity Jam– _Prongs_ couldn't come," he mumbled. "He'll hate to have missed all the fun."

"Well, we can tell him," shrugged Sirius, obviously unconcerned. Remus frowned.

"You aren't usually that cheerful when he isn't with you."

"Let's just say I am sure we'll find a way of getting you two together in due time," replied his friend, grinning broadly again. "For now, though, all we have to worry about is gaining enough house points to overtake Slytherin and grab whatever prize there is going to be for whichever house wins. I checked the hourglasses last night. They're still in the lead. By twenty-six points."

"However did they get so many of them in such a short time?" Remus wondered.

"They got tons," Sirius growled. "Fumes seems to be distributing them at random – never to Gryffindors, though. And McGongall has been known to take points off her own house if she thinks it just. Bloody chivalry. I wish _I_ was in the house that only serves its own interests."

"Don't be ridiculous!" gasped Peter. "You don't wanna be a Slytherin."

"Or a Ravenclaw," prompted Remus. "They are pretty self-centred."

"And Hufflepuffs are dumb," Sirius mused. "Hm. There really isn't a house like Gryffindor, is there? All that's good about people – is us."

"And all the idiots get sorted into Slytherin," said Peter happily. "I read about it in the Daily Prophet the other day. Did you see the article that said all the Knights were Slytherins or former Slytherins?"

"I seem to remember it said Marius Malfoy was up in arms against the editors," Sirius replied thoughtfully. "I mean, he sort of has a point. If someone said 'all Gryffindors always end up kidnapping and torturing fellow witches and wizards', I'd be pissed, too, no matter what it actually was supposed to end up as."

"It's really unusual, isn't it?" Peter mumbled. "Them going against our own kind, I mean?"

"It's more than unusual," replied Sirius darkly. "It's been decades since people have consciously planned and executed an attack on our own kind. Usually, it's always just us against the Muggles. That's why no one was worried when those Knights blew up that train station last spring. Many thought it was funny even. It was only when they learned that the Knights had started targeting wizards that there was an uproar."

"Yes, and because of Remus's transformation down in the dung-" Peter contributed, but then stopped when seeing the look on the young werewolf's face.

"And yet, most of them were fined and then let off," Sirius growled, apparently unaware that the room's temperature appeared to have dropped by two or three degrees just now.

"Is it true that most of the Knights weren't convicted?" Remus asked tensely, suddenly getting up to gather some of his robes and taking some of the chairs back to their original place. "I hear only two or three were convicted at all."

"They don't have a plaintiff's claim," said Sirius seriously. "The law is such that underage wizards can't accuse anyone of anything, whether there be proof or not. And none of the grown-ups saw enough, apparently, to accuse individual people of actual deeds. Besides, some of them got pretty rich parents. Who knows how many Galleons were exchanged during those trials. Believe me, if I were Minister for Magic..."

"Meaning they'll all go free again?" Remus whispered.

"Some already returned home," Sirius said quietly. "I'm sorry. I know you would have liked to see them locked up forever."

"Aw, no..." Remus said vaguely, but deep inside he feared that Sirius had a point.

"Talking of the Daily Prophet," Sirius said suddenly, "did you see that picture of your parents, Remus? Your dad must be the first Muggle on the front page in what... at least six or seven months."

The young werewolf frowned.

"My parents? Both of them?"

"Yeah," replied Sirius, scratching his head. "Something about Rodney Robertson speaking up in a trial against someone else, lots of mixed up stuff I wasn't really interested in. But essentially, I think, the article was about the army admitting they made a mistake about the werewolf who bit you. The actual culprit's called Fenrir Greyback, apparently. There was a picture of him and an interview with your parents and all, but it was pretty long, so I didn't read all of it. I put it on your bed, though, in case you hadn't seen it."

"Oh," said Remus, thoroughly astonished. "I... I hadn't heard. Funnily enough. Er... thank you. That was very thoughtful."

"Right, anyone else getting really hungry?" Peter asked tentatively. He had been rather quiet the whole time and not very attentive, Remus presumed. Peter's thoughts tended to wander off during a conversation that lasted longer than a few minutes. "Breakfast will be ready in a bit," added Peter nervously, twiddling his fingers behind his back. "And I, for one, feel as though I've run around all night..."

The other two boys nodded and Sirius jumped towards the exit, changing shape in mid-movement. His friends stared in awe.

The dog barked, high-spirited, and gave a small nod towards the door, vanishing in the direction of the tunnel that would lead them back to the Hogwarts grounds. Moments later, his friends followed.

* * *

At the same time, several yards away from the spot where the Whomping Willow guarded the entrance to a certain tunnel, a boy wandered aimlessly between the bushes and the few trees that marked the barrier towards an area that was out of bounds to all Hogwarts students.

Severus has spent so much time out of bounds this year that he had no great desire to be found guilty of breaking yet another school rule, and yet, something behind the bushes had picked his curiosity. A shape, about the size of a large animal, was lying in the shadows, half-hidden, but not as carefully as it should have been. It was asleep, which was another thing that puzzled the small Slytherin, and when he finally found the courage to approach, he could hear distinct snoring from the stag's lengthy nostrils.

He took another two steps towards the stag, inclined his head, and stretched out his hand, at a snail's pace, still wondering if he should dare touch the wondrous animal when his skin was already brushing the soft, brown fur behind its ears.

* * *

James awoke with a start.

He blinked, shook his head slightly, blinked again, and tried to rub his eyes – but his hands and fingers were gone and it took him a full minute to understand why. The unpleasant shape of Severus Snape directly in front of his eyes did not do much to improve his sensation of confusion and repulsion. The unfamiliar sensation of being caressed behind his ears by this very person seemed too much to bear on a peaceful Friday morning. He started to get up.

"Don't run off," whispered Severus. "I want to know where you came from."

James held his breath for a second, weighing his options against each other, and then opted for the most tempting one. He inclined his head, playing his role, and lowered himself to the same spot where he had previously slept. Snape's ugly face turned into a smile.

"I should have met you last night," he mumbled, resuming his stroking. (James flinched, but did not pull away.) "McGonagall would never have caught me then."

Silence. Stags couldn't answer, of course, and James refused to give himself away for the mere fun of seeing Snape's face if he did.

"She'll talk to father, you know," Snape informed the stag. "Bout the running away business – but not to get me into trouble. She wants to make things right again. Wants to protect me."

James raised his head again, curious to see the fear in Snape's face that unfailingly appeared there whenever he talked about his father – and frowned. The Slytherin's expression was contorted with rage.

"It is all your fault!" he said, his eyes fixed on James. "No one else's! You were the one who broke the school rules in the first place!"

The stag stared. There was no way Snape could have recognised him. For a fleeting moment, he considered whether this was going too far and whether running off might not have been the better of the two choices just now, but Snape continued speaking and he eventually decided that whatever the other boy was playing at was too interesting to miss a word.

"You ran off!" Snape informed the stag, his expression still dark and contemptuous. "You defied him. You thought you could get by without any help."

"But she is not helping me," whispered Severus Snape as James new him. The stag felt his jaw drop in surprise. A few feet away from where Snape was standing, against the white morning sky, the silhouette of a boy was forming. A tall boy with black hair, a long, slightly hooked nose, wearing a set of new, black school robes, who wore his hair tied neatly into a pony-tail. James was tempted to jump up, thinking he recognised Sirius at first, but then realised that this was impossible. That Snape would not be talking to the young Black the way he did now.

For a moment, all three, the stag, the Snape, and the other boy, stood motionlessly, facing each other with intense curiosity, then the strange boy spoke.

"You thought that if you got rid of me, you could just start breaking the rules," he told Snape, who recoiled at every word directed at him. "You thought you were going to be able to do whatever you want, but I tell you that whatever you do, your misdeeds will just add up. You realise, of course, that you are already in for another trip to the office, do you not? You realise that it is just getting worse with every step you take?"

"But, I..." There was hardly a coherent word to be got out of Snape now, James realised. The other boy, whoever he was, seemed satisfied at this and continued his game.

"You thought just right when you messed up the exam," he told the shaking boy in front of him. "There WILL be a retribution. You did bring this onto yourself. Why didn't you study more? Why didn't you concentrate?"

"I... couldn't..." Snape said weakly, sinking to his knees. "Please, don't tell him. Don't... you don't have to tell him everything, do you...?"

"_No. Lies!_" hissed the other boy. "How _dare_ you suggest not to answer truthfully if he enquires. How _dare_ you even _think_ about deception? He will know. He _always_ knows!"

James was suddenly reminded of a cat and a mouse. The cat was playing and all the mouse could do was react until its tiny heart stopped. Snape was no mouse (he was far too ugly for that) but he was certainly trapped and some things were too bad to be just watching them. A true Gryffindor would act now, he told himself, deciding that it was time to change.

At that moment, however, another shape appeared, several feet away on the path that led towards the castle. A man in lilac robes and buckled shoes with a fancy wizarding hat on his head, whose white beard was tucked into his belt, appeared out of nothingness and approached the three boys (or two, bearing in mind that James was still in his stag shape) in a swift step.

"Who 'knows'?" he asked calmly, his clear, blue gaze directed at the strange boy next to Snape. The boy glared.

"My father," he said, clearly thinking that Dumbledore must know whom he was talking about. The older wizard raised his eyebrows and pushed his half-moon spectacles to the tip of his nose with his left hand. James realised with a jolt of excitement that he was holding his wand with the other. This was going to be good.

"Your father knows only what you tell him, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly, still focussing on the other boy. James was confused.

"B-b-but I have to tell him," Snape whispered from his position on the damp floor. "Or he'll think I was lying..."

"He'll think there was nothing to tell," said Dumbledore softly, his eyes fixed on the other boy. "Your father is not a Legilimens, Severus."

"He knows," Snape whispered.

"Everything," the other boy confirmed. James suddenly realised that they were talking about the same person. He also realised that this was very likely not because they were brothers.

"The fact that _you_ know these things, Severus, does not mean that your father does," said the headmaster. "You must realise that the images you started seeing in other people's heads are not accessible to your father, or many other people, for that matter. Your father told you to tell the truth, and I approve of that, but you can still lie if it serves your best interest. Particularly if it serves your bodily health."

Something in Snape's brain seemed to snap. James saw him straighten up, just a little, although he was still sitting flat on his backside in the grass. "You... McGonagall told you... but she promised..." he whispered.

"Professor McGonagall broke no promise," replied the headmaster, holding out a hand to the boy to pull him up. "But like you, Severus, I am in the happy position of knowing a little more about people than they usually expect. Though not as naturally gifted as you, I spent a great deal of my time delving into the subject of Legilimency, as, I am sure, have you by now."

Snape nodded, slowly, maintaining an air of cautious curiosity. Dumbledore threw an earnest look at the other boy, who crossed his arms and glared at him with unconcealed dislike.

"How do you know what other people are thinking, Severus?" asked the headmaster softly, without a trace of accusation in his tone.

"I-it depends, si-sir," Snape whispered. "I sometimes see... just see things. Skein tells me where to look. A-and sometimes I don't see – then he tells me."

There was a small pause. James struggled to trust his ears and eyes. Snape, a Legilimens? Of all worthless and untalented people, this boy could see other people's thoughts?

"What is Skein, Severus?" the headmaster finally asked, folding his hands in front of his body. The boy frowned, throwing a nervous look at the other boy.

"He... he's my frie-friend, sir." His voice was still shaking.

"You misunderstand me," said Dumbledore politely. "I did not enquire_who_ he was, but _what_."

Snape looked puzzled.

The older wizard watched him for a while, apparently waiting. Then, when there was no indication that Snape was ever going to come up with an answer, he asked, still in the same soft, enquiring manner, "Where does the name 'Skein' come from, Severus?"

Another silence suggested that the boy still did not know the answer to the headmaster's questions. Then, however, when James would have long given up the wait, Snape spoke again in barely more than a whisper.

"When I was small... really small... my mother used to call us that. P-Puffskein..."

"Used to call whom?" the headmaster asked.

Another pause.

"Me," Snape eventually volunteered. "A-and..."

"And everything about you," the headmaster helped. "Even at that time, your natural ability to perform Legilimency was already part of you. Merlin," he then mumbled, as though realising something for the first time, "I'll be curious to know how well you do at Occlumency if you had this much control over your mind at such an early age."

"Sir," said the other boy suddenly and James jerked up. He had almost forgotten about him. "Can you see me? Us, I mean. Can you see both of us?"

"I see an impersonation of your skill," said Dumbledore softly, this time not taking his eyes off Snape. "Yes, Severus. I can see him because he has become incredibly strong in you within the last weeks – months, perhaps. Yet, I did not realise what was happening because, I am sad to say, a headmaster is not always as free to look after his students as he should. It was indeed Professor McGonagall, by the way, who pointed me to the fact that your case required my specific attention. She approached me several times over the year, though, of course, she could not recognise your problem for what it was, never having studied the field in great detail herself. I only realised what was happening when she recounted the story of your – how did she put it – 'invisible friend' to me last night."

"She's gonna tell father," whispered Snape. James rolled his eyes. He was getting tired of the whining. Why on earth did Snape not wonder what exactly had made the other boy assume a solid shape a few moments ago, when they had still been alone?

"I am a little surprised that you can think of your father when we have such an interesting case of manifested magic at hand," Dumbledore told the small Slytherin, pointing at the other boy with the tip of his wand. "You ought to realise that this is your greatest problem at present. And that for all others, you can rely on the assistance of your head of house -" he stopped, frowned, and eventually let out a small chuckle. "But I forget that she is not, in fact, your head of house," he said good-naturedly. "I apologise. Still, you will realise that you have a friend in her. A friend who can help you."

"She is NOT my friend!" snarled the boy called Skein from behind the headmaster.

"I would like you to accept the option that she might be," Dumbledore told Snape in the same, polite voice as before. "Even if you are not in a position to feel it, as yet."

There was another small silence before Snape nodded, obediently.

"Now," said the headmaster, sounding almost cheerful. "What to do about your Legilimency – if you would take out your wand, Severus, I am going to show you exactly what to do in order to keep this alternate personality under control. It is no great matter, really. The most complicated problems, once understood, are often overcome with the simplest of spells."


	31. The Broken Promise

**Author's Note: **This is the last chapter. Please, please, if you liked this, leave a review giving me your thoughts on the chapter or the entire story/series, particularly if you have been reading this far but never reviewed. It is vital for me to know if there are people interested in this story, particularly the non-canon parts. I am not planning a continuation any time soon, but one never knows. If enough people tell me they would follow Severus into fourth year and beyond, I might be tempted.

Enjoy!

* * *

**The Broken Promise**

When the sun had set behind Camden's grey skyline and the hallway at 13 Myrddin Street began to assume a soft, orange tone because of the day's last light falling in from the Muggle-side windows, the fireplace in the living room cracked three times and the previously empty house suddenly filled with voices. The female one spoke softly, urging the other two on and, seconds later, Lance Snape appeared in sight, leading his old friend into the hallway and towards the little staircase to the first floor, which was extendable, depending on how many children lived in the house at a given time.

Professor Minerva McGonagall was wearing a dark blue travelling cloak and her wizarding boots made sharp, determined noises on the wooden floor beneath her. She looked altogether quite serious and determined. The boy, Lance's son, trudged a few feet behind her.

"I cannot see why you will insist on using Severus's room," the soldier said while the three of them were swiftly ascending the staircase. "Our living-room was always good enough…"

"I have my reasons," said Professor McGonagall sharply and turned round the corner.

The room, a small, rectangular chamber, had one side opening to Muggle Camden, while the other window permitted an excellent view on "Pettigrew's Potions Powerseller" in the wizarding half of the district. It was extremely tidy, albeit a little dusty for a lack of use. It was very perceptible that Severus had spent the last six months not here, but in his dormitory at Hogwarts. Snapes had a traditional aversion against House-Elves, and Lance, of course, spent his entire time in Africa during the months when Severus was not at home. There was no one left to clean.

Minerva sat on the room's only chair in front of a dark, wooden desk upon Lance's indication. Severus took a seat on his bed and the soldier remained standing. The situation had an official feeling to it and a certain tension was clearly visible on both Snapes' faces.

The deputy headmistress put an arm on the desk beside her and let her gaze wander through the room, taking in this book or that – and some pictures, which Severus had obviously painted and hung up himself, though, she suspected, not without his father's consent.

"I am sure," said the soldier now, predictably pressing the question of her unscheduled presence under his roof, "the interior of this room cannot be of so much interest to you to justify the long journey from Hogwarts."

"Ah, yes. The long walk to the fireplace in my office and out of your living-room one," nodded Minerva without lifting her gaze from Severus's book shelf. "Straining."

The silence was necessary. She wanted him to _feel_ that something was wrong, Minerva realised. Theoretical knowledge was a wonderful thing as long as it had some relevance to real life situations. Lance's theoretical knowledge told him that a teacher's presence in his house had to be his son's fault. His feeling, eventually, would tell him that his old friend's presence and choice of room and silence meant more than that.

"You, ah, have seen this room quite often, of course," said the soldier in an attempt to fill the silence. "You will know it quite well."

The boy's head lifted, for the first time today, glancing in his teacher's direction. … Never in his father's.

"This room used to be your father's when he was young," Minerva explained calmly. The boy was not to suffer from the silence, Lance was. "Though there were other rooms. For his siblings. Five of them, do I remember this correctly, Lance?"

"You do," confirmed the man. "Though there were only three of us in later years."

"Ah yes, your brothers' deaths…" Minerva said, gazing out of the window now. The younger Snape looked more confused than ever. "I am sure you told your son about them?"

"He knows some facts," Lance replied firmly. "That ought to be enough."

Minerva decided to allow another silence to descend. She threw interested looks at the wardrobe in the corner, where she assumed Severus was keeping not only clothes, but also the rest of his few belongings – possibly even toys. Lance remained motionless for a long time, arms crossed, leaning in the door frame. Then, after what seemed an eternity, he moved away from the door, which closed behind him with a little thud, and seated himself beside Severus on the bed. The boy's eyes widened for a second and his entire body became rigid, but other than that, he made no sign that he had noticed his father's approach. Minerva observed both Snapes' uneasiness with interest. Lance was reacting the way she had hoped, his son the way she had feared.

Severus had recovered greatly after the headmaster had spoken to him several nights before, of course. The signs were unmistakable. The twitching had left his spidery body almost entirely and during the end-of-term banquet she could have sworn that he had flipped a cocktail cherry in the general direction of James Potter, entirely unprovoked. (Surprisingly, the Gryffindor Pureblood had not reacted with prompt retaliation as usual, but had simply watched the other boy with a thoughtful expression on his face. Well, presumably even Potters grew up at some point.)

All in all, the signs had been good. That he was now reverting to his state of utter defensiveness supported her theory that it was Lance, mostly, who was causing the fear in his son. Not Potter, not Black, and not the school's rigid examination system, surprising though it had seemed when realisation had finally dawned on her.

"I like the decoration," she said finally, feeling that she had stretched the silence long enough. "Particularly the pictures. And the not as grey tapestry. Very different from how it used to be."

"Used to be?"

For the second time today, Severus raised his head enough for his eyes to show. It was a sign of great interest that he dared speak at all, she realised, watching instant regret for his words spread on his face and his body return to its previous, recoiled position. She had picked his curiosity, Minerva knew, but the boy's desires came second today. Anything she said had to be double-checked for its effect on Lance first.

"Yes, Mr. Snape," she therefore said calmly. "Last time I was here, this room still belonged to your father. We were…" (she exchanged a nanosecond's side-glance with Lance) "…_friends_ at Hogwarts."

"I didn't know," whispered the boy, still not daring to meet his father's eyes, but fixing his gaze on his shoes. His hands were clinging to the mattress as though his life depended on it, his breathing very quick.

"You need not know everything," said the soldier firmly. Severus fell silent at once.

"But some things," Minerva intervened, "can be helpful to know. I believe that Severus would benefit greatly from hearing about your own time in this room, Lance."

The soldier frowned.

"What are you talking about?" he snorted impatiently. "Are you asking me to recount the days of my early youth to make Severus improve his working attitude?"

"This is not about Severus's academic achievements," said Minerva quietly. "As I am sure you are aware, Lance."

"Then what is this about?" replied the soldier harshly. Minerva realised that they had reached a point where his patience was so strained that he might snap any minute and end the conversation before it had even begun. "You have come to talk about Severus, have you not?"

"Among other things," Minerva told him. "Tell us about this room, Lance. Please."

Several lines had appeared on her friend's stern face. He was fighting with himself, she realised, his desire to be helpful and polite was clearly clashing with Snape fathers' inability to show their human side in front of their growing sons. She folded her hands and waited.

"The room... used to be a little smaller," the soldier said eventually, his voice raw, his choice of words blunter than usual. "My bed was… over there," he pointed, "and the desk was… the same. Yes."

"What about the walls?" said Minerva softly. "Any pictures?"

"Ah, no," replied the soldier formally. "My father would not permit leisure time activities of this kind. We did not draw."

Severus had gone a little pale in the face. He was still on edge because of his father's physical closeness, but he had lifted his head again and was following his father's words with increasing interest.

"There was a family picture next to the window," the soldier remembered, getting up to touch the wall above Severus's desk with one, massive hand, yet barely making contact. "It was renewed every year. Very regularly, except when… except after my brothers' deaths. We had a new one taken straight away that year. Father was very particular on that one."

"I can imagine," Minerva mumbled. Lance, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten all about her presence. He was pacing up and down the room (effectively crossing it in less than three steps) apparently lost in thoughts. He stopped, after a short while, in front of the wall next to the bed, where Severus had hung up an early picture of a vaguely human-shaped stick figure with long, black hair that was grinning all over its round face, waving what looked like a minuscule wand in one hand. The soldier's expression was motionless, his fingertips touching behind his back. Severus looked more apprehensive than ever. It was only now that Minerva noticed a tiny, ripped-off bit of the tapestry directly underneath the drawing. On closer investigation (she stood up as well now) it appeared as though a second piece of paper had been put up underneath this one, but taken off in a hurry. A jolt of excitement surged through her like a bolt of lightning. This was it! The piece of confirmation she had been looking for.

"Interesting," she said as calmly as possible, putting her hand on Lance's upper arm. "The same place, the same purpose, would you not think?"

He pushed her away. Severus jumped and retreated. Minerva, on the other hand, caught herself and returned to the place near the soldier's broad chest once more, hands on her hips, glaring up at him from below.

"I remember," she said firmly, as though telling Severus what this was all about, but really watching her old friend's every reaction, "a piece of parchment hanging at this very place, Mr. Snape. – Oh, don't look like that. I don't remember _yours_, obviously, though your expression gives me a last confirmation that my assumption is right. No, I remember _the first_ piece of parchment that hung here before you put up your own, although in your father's youth he would not have _dared_ rip it off."

She gave the soldier a meaningful look through her square glasses and took his arm again. He turned and pushed her away once more, gently, but with resolution.

"That will do, Minerva," he said, his voice suddenly officer-like, not permitting opposition. Minerva shook her head and took out her wand.

"It won't, and you know it. – _Accio parchment_!" she then said without taking her eyes off the soldier.

Severus's school trunk gave a small jerk, then sprung open and the desired object zoomed into Minerva's hands without delay. She took a few steps away from her old friend, out of his reach and towards the incoming light from the window, holding the parchment up for inspection, to read the words she had hoped never to read again. There were nine short sentences only, nothing more, nothing less, precision in the most typical of Snape manners.

"Father is always right," she read aloud, keeping the parchment demonstratively far away from her body. "No talking back. No shouting. No humming or singing. No banging doors. No leaving my room at night. No entering the downstairs bedroom. No being late at mealtimes. No lying."

There was a short silence in which Minerva lowered her hand with the parchment and took a deep breath.

"Why," she said eventually, when neither the soldier nor his son would speak, "you replaced 'no fooling around' with three new ones. How inventive. I expect it makes you think that you are not at all just copying your father's behaviour at the height of his cruelty, doesn't it?"

Lance crossed his arms and finally turned away from the wall.

"We should discuss this somewhere else," he said darkly. "I did not expect that you would make a scene like this – perhaps I should indeed start visiting you regularly again to increase my chances of estimating your overly emotional reactions correctly…"

"Make a scene?" Minerva replied, calmly, she found, and very rationally. "I am not making a scene, _Caelian_. I am reminding you of a conversation we had several years ago when your wife was pregnant – at the shore of the Hogwarts lake. Do you not remember that conversation, Lance?"

"In the office, perhaps," the soldier suggested, but Minerva blocked his way out.

"Here," she said. "In front of Severus. This isn't about you any longer, Lance. This is about him. About his well-being. It is about time you were confronted with his reactions to your imperfection, Lance. And you will see that they are the same as yours in the same situation!"

"We had this conversation," said the soldier impatiently, building himself up in front of her, exactly, she suspected, as he would have done with a recruit. "You are going to try and prove to me that I have turned into my father. You are going to tell me that Snapes are generally too strict with their children and I am going to tell you that it is absolutely none of your concern how I decide to educate my son. You are going to ask me when a slap is going to become a belting, and where the difference between a belt and a cane actually is, with no personal experience whatsoever in this particular matter..."

"Oh, I don't have to ask, don't worry," hissed Minerva. "I've had the pleasure of witnessing exactly how much of a Brutus Snape you turned into, rest assured…"

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" snapped the soldier indignantly. "Don't talk nonsense, Minerva. You always pretend to know…"

"Oh, _do_ I?" Minerva began, but stopped herself suddenly, catching Severus's wide, horrified gaze. His lips were moving, his hands curled into the blanket behind him. She felt her determination threatening to leave. Not now, however. This needed to be done. Some things needed to be said, despite all anxiety…

She suddenly understood Severus's words without hearing them, reading what she expected the quivering lips to say: "You promised…"

But the decision was made. It was the only way Lance would understand. Minerva heaved a deep breath, lowered herself onto the chair in front of Severus's desk again and threw an apologetic look in the direction of her student.

"I am very sorry, Mr. Snape, but sometimes it is necessary for us to voice even the things we are uncomfortable about…"

The boy seemed unable to speak. All the better. He would understand – when he was older.

"Lance, sit down," she said firmly. "I need to tell you something."

Severus, looking as though he was going to jump up in protest any moment, used an extraordinary amount of effort to keep himself in his place. Minerva had to keep herself from admiring the Snape's typical self-control, remembering at what price it was bought. Snape senior lowered himself to the bed again, without an immediate reaction from his son for a change, and crossed his arms.

"Well?"

"You know," said Minerva quietly, carefully weighing every word against other options now, "I was actually going to talk to you about all this several days ago, but your son convinced me not to. Can you imagine how?"

Severus was moving his lips again. His forehead gleamed of sweat now. Minerva ignored him, as did his father.

"I shall be taking lessons with him," said the soldier, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"A few days ago," Minerva recounted unflinchingly, "your son left the safety of the Hogwarts walls to run away. It didn't happen for the first time, but that's neither here nor there. When I found him, I discovered quite a bit about your… choice of educational methods."

"I told you, I would…"

"Yes," said Minerva impatiently. "I know that you told me, at the time, that you thought boys needed some discipline. And, believe it or not, your son shares this view."

Lance threw an approving side-glance at Severus, who looked startled, but slightly less on edge all of a sudden.

"I expect you are going to tell me next that you hugged and kissed his rule-breaking away that day and that this was why he eventually followed you back to the castle…" began the soldier, but Minerva would not let him finish.

"He did indeed follow me," she said. "With quite some distance, I have to say, but he did agree to return. He even agreed although I had told him I was intent on talking to you. Presumably, he thought I would forget about it, as I have far too often in the course of the school year."

"And you did," guessed the man.

Minerva could have sworn she heard an 'if only' from the direction of the boy, but his father did not move, so she decided that it had probably been a hallucination.

"No," she said, "because something happened that changed my mind."

"And that would be?"

"When we reached the edge of the forest," Minerva recounted, "we suddenly met you."

The soldier blinked. "Beg your pardon?"

"We met you," Minerva repeated. "You were standing a few feet away from your son, looking down at him with what I'll take the liberty of interpreting as disgust."

"I don't…"

"You grabbed Severus's neck," Minerva continued, quite forgetting her student's appropriate title, "dragged him to a nearby tree, summoned a cane, and started _beating_ him until he screamed. It took me three attempts to find the spell that was necessary to free him because I would _never_have suspected that you, Caelian Lance, would be your own. Son's. C_orporeal.__Boggart_! You know, I expect, that Boggarts only physically attack their victims, if they are feeding from a concrete memory, not a potential danger…?"

"There really is no need for this…" the soldier began, but his face had gone a little pale.

"And do you know why, after freeing your son from the beast, I decided to oblige to his pleading of not letting you know what his Boggart turns into?" snarled Minerva. Her rage suddenly took control of her entire actions. "Because he convincingly conveyed to me that this would result in –"

BANG!

For a fraction of a second, something feeling like thick, cold liquid enclosed Minerva's mouth and nose and she choked. As though through a veil, she saw Lance jump up, whip out his wand, and perform several basic defence spells around the three of them, his head whirling this way and that in search for the sudden attacker. It was only then, apparently, that he took in his son standing next to the bed, clutching his black wand with two trembling hands, looking out of his mind with rage and fear.

"You promised not to tell...!"

Minerva tried to speak, but realised that she could not. Her body was rooted to the floor by the liquid, which, at the same time, had bereft her of all speech. Against her will, the Transfiguration teacher was momentarily impressed.

Without delay, Lance flicked his wand at the boy, catching Severus's in his left hand as his spell disarmed him.

"How_dare_ you?!"

He pocketed the wand and slapped his son in the face, who pressed against the wall, unable to escape the situation, unable, it seemed, to continue his chosen course of action.

"You are _underage_!"

Another flick took care of the defensive spells.

"This will have _consequences_!"

Another slap, then Minerva felt herself being released from her student's spell. Aching with a sudden pain springing from her heart and lungs, she sunk to the floor, but was caught and pulled upright again by the tall soldier, who picked her up like a doll, placing her squarely on Severus's bed. All the while, he reproached his son as though the incident had triggered an automatic script.

"No magic between terms and outside of classes! What do you think you are doing? You could have killed her! You ought to be expelled! If you think that being out of Hogwarts means the school rules do not apply to you any longer, you'll see where that gets you. I'll teach you to -"

"Lance," said Minerva weakly. "Fear…"

"There is no need to be afraid, Minerva," said the soldier gently, his voice suddenly turned down like a wireless. "There was no attacker, just my foolish son…"

"No," interrupted the witch. "Severus…" And she inclined her head slightly, indicating the direction where the boy stood, pale-faced and trembling. He did not have a wand. This was the moment.

"He does this," she whispered, "for fear of beatings. Nothing else. He would never attack me if he didn't think my words were going to land him in the office. He never attacks anyone at school unless he thinks he'll end up being beaten either way."

"Nonsense," said the soldier harshly. "He doesn't have his anger under control. It is common with Snapes -"

Minerva got up, slowly at first, then more steadily. The pain had gone as quickly as it had appeared in the first place. She took a deep breath, hesitated, just a moment, and then, deciding that it was for the greater good, marched towards Severus in two large strides.

"Anger?" she asked calmly, placing a cold hand around the boy's warm neck, who jumped back at first, but squealed and stopped fighting at an instant when her fingers closed around his vertebra. Instead, he began to shake and curled his fingers into the fabric of his robes. Within seconds, he was the small first-year again, who had gone to pieces in his first Transfiguration lesson. Within seconds, he was Severus the child who had always, always suffered from receiving remedial lessons in a teacher's office. Minerva grit her teeth and glared at her old friend in unconcealed disgust.

"_This_ is anger to you?" she hissed, pressing Severus down some more, who whimpered and clutched his backside in horrified anticipation. "_This,_ Caelian Lance Snape is a neck automatism. This is exactly what you were like in the same situation when you were your son's age. This isn't a pubescent phase he is going through. He has been _trained_ to fear a neck grip by the physical and emotional impact of your beatings!"

There was a small pause. The room had suddenly gone very quiet, what with all the shouting and the noise of spells gone.

"I realise that now," said Minerva softly, letting go of the boy's neck at last. "Far too late. And I want you to put a stop to it before Severus goes the way of your brothers and tries to kill his father in a reaction of self-defence. I need you to help Severus understand his situation and yours." She put an arm gently around the quivering boy, who seemed close to tears now, still struggling against the memories that had clearly just passed before his inner eye. "Please, Lance," she said urgently, her voice back in school mode. "You must trust me on this one. These rules are not going to help your son become a better person. They are going to drive him insane. And even if you don't punish exactly as your father used to, don't you see that the effect is still the same? Don't you think that Severus deserves better than a constant fear of being sent to the office?"

Three hours later, Severus was sitting in the living room, a blanket round his body, looking quite peaceful and alone. Professor McGonagall had said goodbye rather reluctantly and the situation had normalised. Against Severus's expectations, eight o'clock had passed without retribution for his earlier behaviour and now, a kettle with hot liquorice tea was standing on the fire in the small kitchen, his father busy preparing some food.

When he re-entered the living-room, Lance Snape looked several decades older and very worn. He had changed out of his red uniform into a more homely set of wizarding robes – a rare occasion these days – and something in his general behaviour had changed from official to sunken, as though the soldier inside had gone for a little holiday trip.

"Are you feeling better?" he enquired while placing Severus's cup in front of him, settling down in the other armchair.

The boy nodded mutely. At some point, he understood, his father had made the decision of treating his son's earlier outburst like an illness. They had spoken about decisions, Severus remembered. His father and the professor had discussed education and control, power and purpose. Some agreements had been made. The professor could be quite persistent if she wanted to be.

"You realise, of course, that there is a great deal of responsibility involved for you with these new arrangements," said his father now, the tea cup at his lips. "Your teacher seems to think that you are old enough to be treated like a grown-up."

"Yes'r," said Severus, cautious, but not uninterested.

"It is understood, of course," continued the tall man in a persistently calm, and very firm voice, "that you are still going to obey any order without questioning. Explicit rules or not, you will not be permitted to talk back to me or behave like a sullen child in any other way. Understood?"

"Yessir," replied the boy. It was not a question.

"Well then," said his father quietly. "Let's try one more time, shall we? Make sure that you aren't... how did Minerva put it... dependent on these rules any longer?"

Severus gulped, but nodded. In a small pause, both Snapes sat up in their seats and gazed at each other as though one was about to sacrifice the other to an angry deity.

"What are the rules?" the soldier asked, more in his usual voice than before.

Severus felt his fist clench on their own accord and tried to sit on his hands to keep them from shaking. Another automatism, the professor had explained. The reaction to a voice. Severus knew exactly what she was referring to.

"There... there is only one rule," he whispered against all instinct, using all the determination he could muster to try and shut out the memory of his most recent beating. To his great surprise, his efforts were rewarded with full success for once.

"Which is?"

"No questioning authority," whispered the boy. - The professor had given in on the keeping of this one only reluctantly, he remembered, and only because his father had insisted. No rules, no deal. There needed to be something to cling on to. Severus quite agreed. He had been astounded, to say the least, that rules were negotiable at all.

"You are a good boy," said the soldier softly. "Quite apt at overcoming old habits, I must say. You remind me of your uncle, my late brother, quite a bit."

Severus remained silent, aware that this was probably the greatest compliment his father had ever voiced in his life.

Yet, something was nagging him. Something had persistently appeared and re-appeared in his mind ever since the professor had named her most important demand: honesty. The moment would pass, he realised, and perhaps never again was there going to be as big a chance of getting a truthful answer concerning the Prince question out of the unbendingly authoritarian man.

"Father," he said in a smaller voice than intended, "may I ask you a question?"

"I assumed you would," replied the soldier, not for the first time feeding Severus's assumption that there was more to his father's mind-reading skills than Dumbledore gave him credit for. "There is a price for Minerva's way of dealing with this matter, and I told her I was willing to pay it, if she insisted. I said I would go all the way or not at all, so yes. You may. But I have to ask you first, Severus, is this matter really so important to you? Are you sure you_want _to know?"

"If you're my father? Well, yes, I suppose..."

"You are my son," cut the soldier in. "For reasons far beyond the limited logic of biology. And you are your mother's son." He hesitated just for a second. "And she would be proud of you now – as am I."

There was more silence and some drinking of tea. Severus felt his eyes water again – of something other than fear this time, but managed to pull himself together. For a long time, neither of them spoke. The room was lit only by the flickering light of a small torch beside the door. Severus stared in its centre – and smiled.


End file.
